Faerie Tale
by MajorSam
Summary: In 1984, a reckless Helen Magnus embarks on a dangerous, solo mission to the wild jungles of Brazil. Even she couldn't have predicted the adventure that follows. It will change her life forever.
1. Unto the Breach

**Authors Notes:** Welcome, all, to my first attempt at a somewhat lengthy adventure story! A warm up, as it were, to a grand, epic tale of insane whumpdom that I hope to get done sometime in the next, oh, year or so :S Your thoughts and comments for this story will help fuel me, both with encouragement, and, I'm sure, great ideas! Note: The entire story IS written already, for those of you who don't like reading WIP's, as I don't!

**Warnings**: This story does contain whump, and turns into an "M" rating later on for sexual content. If that's not your thing, please do still read; simply tell me you're not into the M stuff, and I'll send you a lovely summary on what plot/action happens within those chapters! :D

And we're off to the races! Enjoy this prologue! MSam

**Faerie Tale**

**Copyright 2011, MajorSam**

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><p>Without a single groan or cry, Helen Magnus turned onto her stomach and pushed herself up. Her entire body was in such pain that she no longer noticed the sliding of shards of bone in her knee. Her breathing was coming in short, quick gasps as she sat up as high as she could. She raised her chin, looking out over the low branches and vines, when she felt the hard press of a gun barrel rise up against the back of her skull. She didn't think of anything profound, she didn't really think of anything at all. She just gazed out at the magnificent, looming trees, just across the empty camp.<p>

The shot rang out clear against a suddenly silent jungle.

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><p><em>Three Days Earlier<em>

_December 18th, 1984_

_The Sanctuary_

"I have a bad feeling about this," the Big Guy growled.

Magnus sighed, just barely managing to constrain herself.

"I'm sorry, but I've already told you, the plane leaves in an hour, and I'm going to be on it."

"But Magnus…"

"ENOUGH!" she yelled. Her friend's eyes widened in shock, and he took a step back. It took her a solid minute to wrangle herself under control again, during which time the Big Guy appraised her. When she finally looked up into his eyes again, she was almost ashamed to see the sadness in his gaze. Almost.

"I'll be back for Christmas," she promised, picking up the backpack from her office chair and fixing it onto her shoulders.

The Big Guy just grunted.

As she walked out the door, she could have sworn she heard him say,

"We'll see."

_21 hours later – Amazon Jungle, Brazil_

Magnus was secretly more than happy to throw her heavy pack into the back of the 4x4. She sighed as she hauled herself up into the passenger seat. She shouldn't have been short with her friend, but why couldn't he just see it from her point of view?

These creatures could be the greatest discovery of her life. With so many roots in various cultures' folklore, any sighting of a so called "Faerie" was enough to excite her. Despite the trend of 20th century films depicting "fairies" as wonderful little people with wings, many of the myths surrounding the mysterious beings were far removed from such frivolity. Some experts included such creatures as goblins and daemons in the same family as a faerie, and feared them all as evil. One of the most frightening tales of the faerie people was that they would steal new babies and replace them with twisted, warped changelings. Some cultures put out offerings to appease the Fey, thus keeping their families safe. Magnus thought this was hogwash, another example of the close-minded human brain not understanding an unknown group of abnormals, and thus instantly fearing and detesting it. Magnus believed they were, if not the Disney version of glowing do-gooders, at least a much more benign race. She believed them to be more like the Tuatha Dé Danann of Irish legend than anything else: A group of people with unique abilities, having been hunted and destroyed by man, and forced into hiding.

She certainly hadn't expected to hear of a potential sighting in the Amazon Jungle, but she wasn't one to pass up the possibility of finally contacting this secretive group.

Why had the Big Guy been so concerned?

Well, besides the fact that the Amazon was a feral jungle full of wild animals, insects, and poisonous plants. The contact who'd told her about the faeries had also reported sightings of a rogue guerrilla group hiding in the area, possibly convicts that had come over the border from Columbia. Plus there was the fact that over the last 10 years or so, Magnus had become increasingly reckless. It seemed every mission she chose was more dangerous than the last, with harsher climates, more violent foes and less information to go on.

The Big Guy had tried to get her to recognize the path she was going down, but she seemed to have an answer for everything. She had rationalized away every crazy, rash decision she'd made, making Big Guy fear the worst. In short, she seemed to have it out for herself, and he didn't want one more instance of having to rescue her from some hole, bloodied and bruised, swearing she had been onto something. Sure, she had a slightly elevated recovery rate, but he was afraid that someday soon she wouldn't have time to call for his help, or he'd arrive too late. When she wasn't off throwing herself into danger, she would seclude herself in her office or the library. He sometimes wouldn't see her for days, and when he did, she was often moody, ill tempered, and distracted. One might even say depressed.

All these thoughts passed through her head as Magnus was driven to her destination. She had taken a plane as far as Manaus but had to switch to her private helicopter, travelling a further 30 or so kilometers into the jungle that ruled the country. She had landed in a little known clearing, housing only her landing pad and a single, decrepit looking shack. The shack held a surprising amount of supplies essential to surviving in the Amazon - everything from food and clean water to extra clothes, weapons and emergency communications devices. Only two people in the world knew about this place: Magnus and Diogo, her driver, who was also her contact in this area, and the one who'd reported the faerie sighting.

Diogo was what one could call a "whisperer." He was not, however, the usual kind, who work with horses, or dogs, or even what Harry Potter would call a parsletongue. He could communicate telepathically with not one kind but several species of animal. He'd discovered he was different at a young age, and instead of waiting to be the victim of ostracizing and ridicule, he'd taken to the jungle. Tales of a man who communed with the wilds had spread, and 12 years ago, Magnus had managed to find him and take him under her wing. She had helped him to cultivate his talent, and the understanding and respect he'd gained through her had led him to become an invaluable source of information.

His report to her about the faeries had been exactly the kind of thing she wanted to hear these days; confusing and controversial.

Two days ago, he claimed to have been exploring a part of the jungle even he had never before been to before, when he'd heard a strange sound. It was as if the forest was singing to him. He'd fallen into a trance-like state, and his feet led him to a place he couldn't now remember. He recalled a sensation filling his mind, probing, as if searching for something. At first he'd been afraid, but as the feeling left, a sense of contentment had come over him. He knew in his mind that he had passed a test and had permission to continue on. Right before his feet led him back to the exact point where he'd first heard the singing, he saw something. The silhouette of a person, a hazy image that seemed to glow even against the vivid background of the jungle, appeared before him. He described this hazy image as the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

The next day he heard the singing again. He allowed the song to take him over once more, but as his feet led him deeper into the jungle, the song was cut off. The final note had been discordant, harsh, and he'd known something was terribly wrong. He'd contacted Magnus immediately, and so here she was, in the passenger seat of a tiny 4x4, being driven as far into the jungle as Diogo could manage. When the jungle became too dense, the small man eased the car to a halt, taking a breath before turning to speak to her, in Portuguese.

"Dr. Magnus, this area is not safe. The animals are always restless… I have never been able to calm them," he admitted, hanging his head slightly.

"It's alright, my friend," she replied in his native tongue. "I can take care of myself."

He gave her a strange look, and Magnus wondered if the Big Guy had been talking to Diogo. The Brazilian was a smart man; he could easily pick up on the edge of recklessness that flowed throughout his saviour and friend. He also understood, however, the need to be alone, to get away, when no one in the world could understand what you were going through. She was unlike any human he'd ever met, the only one to ever show compassion to beings that were "different." She could tame this jungle as she had tamed so many others. He would talk to his brother animals and make sure they watched her as far as they were willing to in this dangerous territory.

Magnus sent him one last reassuring smile before grabbing her supply-laden backpack and hopping out of the little jeep. Her friend, so used to speaking with only the animals, through his mind, said nothing more. As he drove away, Magnus hefted the pack onto her back, securing the hip straps to take its weight off her shoulders as she took in her surroundings. She had hoped to be dropped off around noon, but it had taken longer for Diogo to navigate the jeep than she'd expected, and it was already early evening. She should probably set up for the night. It had been a long day of travel, and she hadn't slept at all. The sun was still quite bright overhead, but she was about to enter a portion of the jungle so thick that the trees, vines, and other shrubbery created a canopy, blanketing the earth. The small gap in the trees she was about to take looked like a mini black hole, a gaping black maw that promised danger at every turn.

She grinned and stepped in.

_To Be Continued…_

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><p>Please let me know your thoughts! The more reviews I receive, the faster I'll post chapters! Yes, I'm not above swindling you like that ;) What do you think is in store for Magnus? Can't wait to hear! Thanks for reading, MS<p> 


	2. Beginnings

**A/N:** Let the whump begin...! *cackle*

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><p>The first change Magnus registered was the sound. It was as if she'd put on ear muffs. Everything was dulled, muffled. Then suddenly an animal would shift in the vines beside her, and the noise would pierce her like an arrow, shrill and echoing. The next thing she noted was the lighting. The foliage was thick, yes, but every so often a small gap in the vines would let a single burst of light forward. The pinpoints of light came from all angles, creating a tapestry that looked otherworldly. She could occasionally see the flick of a tail as an animal passed through the beams. Sometimes she thought she saw eyes reflecting from the darkness beyond. The heat pressed down on her like a physical force, enclosing her, trapping her in the tight jungle passages. It was unsettling to say the least.<p>

_Perfect_.

It was everything she could hope for, something to keep her on edge, focused, aware, too busy navigating to think about the state of her life. She had no protégé, there were constant mutinies by her fellow heads of house, and security problems left and right, with several abnormals recently escaping from not one, but three different Sanctuaries. Jason's death, though it had been eight years ago, still haunted her. Not enough pieces to even justify a casket. She'd taken his ashes, alone, to spread over the hills in his native homeland of Scotland. He would have liked that. She hadn't taken a lover since.

Jason had been a fiery, Scottish red head, and though he lived up to the meaning of his name, "healer," he had been a force to be reckoned with. Impulsive and strong willed, he headed blindly into danger just for the thrill it gave him, the feel of being alive. Magnus had always managed to temper her own spirit, but being with him had sometimes made her yearn to let loose, go wild, chase every whim and instinct. After his death, she had unknowingly followed his example. Maybe it was some strange form of denial or an unconscious need to continue his legacy, but she started choosing missions more for their adventure than their potential outcome. When she was in danger, fighting, grappling with a rabid Fei Lian, she could swear she sometimes saw a flash of orange hair out of the corner of her eye. Maybe he was there, watching her, cheering her on. If she could just get into a good enough fight or be hurt badly enough, maybe he'd stay and help her. Maybe, while rescuing an abnormal from a group of rogues, she could end her life in a fit of blazing glory and be with him, forever. If Jason weren't there, maybe someone else would be. The list of lovers long dead was lengthy. Wasn't it better, easier, to live her life completely alone? If you don't get attached, you don't get hurt. She, above all people, recognized this.

Such morose thoughts of her dead friends were exactly the kind of thing she wanted to avoid, and the sharp noises and rustling jungle were doing their job.

Magnus held her machete in front of her, hacking as needed when her path became too thick. She was following the route Diogo thought he'd taken when under the influence of the faerie song. He had given her a direction, and told her he thought he'd been walking for about two hours. She glanced down at her watch. It had already been three.

"Damn," Magnus cursed quietly. She wanted to keep pressing forwards but it was nearing pitch black. Even as reckless as she was these days, she didn't really want to trip over a vine and land face-first on a sleeping five foot snake.

She grudgingly found a soft, somewhat open patch of ground to use as her sleeping pad. Easing her pack off, she set it beside her, reaching into one of the front pockets to take out her walky-talky. The range on commercial devices wasn't good but with a few tweaks, a colleague of hers had been able to boost the signal significantly. She quickly called Diogo who was, as she suspected, still wide awake. He preferred to talk to the animals at night. The light of day sometimes interfered beneath his closed eyelids as he contacted his friends with his mind. She informed him of her lack of success promised to report in the next night. When she was finished, she put the radio back into its pocket, and found her canteen. She took a deep sip, savouring the liquid as it soothed her dry throat. It was extremely easy to become dehydrated in this hot, humid place. She contemplated dinner, but dismissed the idea quickly. She'd had something to eat in the jeep earlier that afternoon. These days she rarely had an appetite, and right now the thought of food almost made her ill.

As Magnus prepared to lie down, she thought about the fact she was alone in a very deep part of the jungle. She didn't want an animal to simply take her out in her sleep. An open fight, in daylight, would be nice. She had a few knives on her person, of course, and would keep a sidearm on hand, but as she was thinking about further safeguards around the perimeter of her clearing, a warm, soft sensation travelled through her. It started at her scalp and moved, tingling, right down through her toes. Her eyes drifted out of focus, and she smiled, softly, into the darkness.

She was safe.

With no further thought, she lay down on the soft, green carpet and was instantly asleep.

Through the dark, invisible eyes watched her, unblinking.

Magnus slept better than she had in years. While she certainly appreciated it, she thought it very odd. She usually found that the jungle came alive at night. The lack of sight served to heighten one's hearing so that every hiss, creak and caw of wildlife was amplified, echoing through your mind, keeping one tense and alert. She was suddenly concerned; had she been bitten by something? Had it been some kind of natural sedative that knocked her out? She quickly scanned her body, poking and prodding, looking for any sign of pain, redness, or a small prick where something could have bitten her and injected something.

Nothing. She was clean.

She puzzled over it for another moment, and then shrugged it off. It was just another sign that she had been right in choosing to go on this mission. She somewhat smugly opened her pack, taking out a powerbar before hefting the pack onto her shoulders, and starting her search once more as she chewed absently on her breakfast. She got halfway through it before she couldn't be bothered anymore, and stuffed it into the pocket of her tan-coloured shorts.

The rest of the day could be called, to Magnus' great frustration, a write-off. She found absolutely nothing besides a few random birds, a rather surprised monkey, and a very bored looking anteater. Almost 20 percent of the world's animal population, and that's all she finds, in this area, where even Diogo feared to go? She was highly disappointed. She hadn't wanted to encounter an anaconda last night, but today she would have welcomed one. A good wrestle would have made the trip at least somewhat worthwhile. The few scratches she'd managed to get from twisted branches could hardly be called noble battle scars. She'd spotted a few odd looking animals, it was true, but the keen curiosity she'd once held for anything remotely different was gone. She wanted something glorious and monumental, or huge and nasty. The only thing interesting about the day was the occasional feeling she got that someone was watching her. At first she wondered if the guerilla group Diogo had warned her of was nearby, but after a few cautious hours, she knew it wasn't them. If it was they would have attacked her by now, and a lot of people would have been dead. No, something else was here.

Magnus dearly hoped it was the Faeries. She called out to them a few times, but when her only reply was the cawing of a toucan, she fell silent. If they had the ability to "call" Diogo to them, then she was sure they could do the same to her. She was upset that they hadn't. Did they not deem her worthy? Did she have to undergo some sort of test first? She tried to project her thoughts, her intentions, telling them she would accept whatever trials they wished to put her through, but her efforts were met with silence.

By the end of the day, the continuous inactivity had Magnus in a foul mood. Once again she wished to press on, but even with her flashlight, navigation through the thick foliage was impossible. With a sigh, she started to prepare for the night, setting her pack down and bringing out her walky talky to report to Diogo. She wasn't tired, so she decided to write a few notes in her mission journal then do something mildly useful like sharpen her knives. As she brought the walky-talky to her lips, a feeling of warm safety suddenly washed over her, like the night before, but stronger. She almost gasped out loud at the sudden sensation of being enveloped in a soft, cozy blanket, whispered words of comfort sounding silently in her ears. The walky dropped from her numb fingers to the ground. She was kneeling, but fell forward onto her forearms, unable to hold herself up against the bombardment of quietly whispered nothings. A huge smile broke out over her face, and she laughed, happier than she'd been in a long time, now wanting nothing more than to let herself succumb to the sweet embrace of sleep. She let her body relax, melting onto the grass, asleep before her cheek ever touched the ground.

Two new sets of eyes, very visible this time, watched her fall. One set, brown, turned to another, also brown. They nodded. Silently, they crept forward.

Magnus woke to a cacophony of noise. Voices screamed at her from all angles, piercing into her already pounding head. She fought to open her heavy eyelids, and the blinding sun assaulted her, making her nauseous with the addition to her already overloaded senses. She fought not to gag, closing her eyes and regulating her breath as she quickly took stock of her situation.

She was lying on her side with her arms bound tightly behind her. She wriggled her wrists about, testing the strength of the knotted rope, finding them completely firm.

_Damn._

She mentally ran over her body, checking for wounds. She could feel something caked on the right side of her face. Blood? She'd been hit over the head. She struggled to right herself and managed to maneuver her body into a huddling kneel; keeping her eyes squeezed shut, her head spinning with the effort. Had this abduction happened as she was sleeping? Why hadn't she woken up at their approach? On the rare occasion that she slept it was very light, her sense of self-defense so highly tuned that she woke at the slightest sound. How and why had she been able to sleep so deeply the last two nights? She had a vast array of experience with drugs, but she couldn't think of any that would cause the effects she'd felt; the soft, singing voices, instant euphoria, safety, and the need to sleep.

The voices around her ratcheted up in volume, and a sharp pain suddenly erupted on her cheek, accompanied by a loud, slapping sound. She gasped and fell sideways, hitting her shoulder awkwardly. Her eyes flew open, and she worked to adjust them to the bright light as she saw a pair of boots in front of her, topped with a squatting, heavily tanned man. Several other men milled about nearby, surrounding her, watching her. They were dressed in loose fitting, mismatched clothing, most pieces ripped, torn, or dirty in some way. It was an array of muted reds, browns, and greens. Several had bands of cloth tied about their foreheads, trying to soak up the sweat the jungle pulled from them and keep it from falling into their eyes. Some had strips tied around their arms or legs. Magnus figured they were either some kind of clan marker or crude bandages for wounds. Almost every man held some kind of firearm, and those that didn't carried knives or machetes. She realized, as she counted how many men she could see, that every single one wore something around their neck, a kind of amulet or talisman.

Magnus blinked several times, finally fully awake and aware, using her core muscles to haul herself up from the ground, back onto her knees. She glared into the hard brown eyes of the man before her, obviously their leader. His face was dirty, and had a few days of stubbly growth. His chin was solid, and the sleeveless shirt he wore did nothing to hide his bulky, muscular arms, which were decorated with scars of varying sizes and degrees of severity. Twisted tattoos that she couldn't decipher curled around his biceps. She didn't say a word, waiting instead for him to start and hopefully give her some idea of where she was, and why they had captured her.

He appraised her, silently, for several moments, drawing his eyes slowly down her body then back up again. She fought to suppress a tremble, feeling dirty beneath his gaze, wanting very much to reach out and punch the smirk of appreciation from his face. When he spoke, however, it seemed he was talking to her ear, very purposely avoiding looking directly into her eyes.

"You certainly don't look like any witch I've been told about," he finally said, in Spanish, his voice deep and rough. Columbian dialect. Seems Diogo's reports of a rogue guerilla faction were correct.

"I'm afraid there's been some kind of mistake," she told him, in a diplomatic but firm tone, also in Spanish.

He eyes widened slightly, surprised to hear her speaking his native tongue. He ignored her.

"I will not let you sing your spell on me, bruja," he growled, raising his hand to slap her again. She could do nothing but brace herself for the blow, grounding herself so that she didn't fall over this time. He raised an eyebrow and chuckled.

"I am glad to see your strength, bruja," he complimented her. "I was disappointed when it was so easy to capture you. So much for your powers, yes?"

Magnus frowned. Did this man think she was a witch? A Faerie? Why? She had done nothing to indicate any sort of abnormal abilities since she'd arrived in the Amazon. If he or his people had been following her, they would know that. An ear-rattling scream suddenly burst forth from inside one of the tents, continuing on for several seconds. Magnus tensed, but the only acknowledgment the man in front of her gave was a hardening of his jaw. She chose to ignore the scream as well. Would the man keep slapping her every time she spoke?

"I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about," she informed him. When no slap came, she continued. "My name is Helen Magnus." His eyes narrowed, but she kept talking. "I'm a zoologist. I'm looking for a rare breed of striped tree frog. I apologize; I didn't know this was your territory."

He looked at her for just a moment, expression unreadable, before bursting into laughter. The men around him joined in, and Magnus felt a chill run down her spine, despite the oppressive heat. She instinctively knew there would be no diplomacy with these people, no words to convince them of her innocence in whatever it was they thought she'd done. They had a strong, pre-formed judgment of her, and she would not be able to change it now. She quickly started planning a new strategy.

"I did not expect a witch to be so amusing!" he told her, still laughing. She stayed silent, letting him enjoy the moment, looking out through her peripheral vision to further observe her surroundings.

They were in a large clearing that she could tell had been constructed. The edges were rough, hacked away by sharp machetes. Several tents were set up, and two fire pits had been established. Cooking implements lay strewn about in no particular order. She could see the walls of some tents fluttering, brief shadows popping in and out of view. She had no idea how many men occupied the camp, but at least eight or 10 surrounded her now. The smell of sweat and cigarettes banished the fresh, pure, natural smells of the jungle.

The odds were very much against her, especially with her already being in such a vulnerable position. She smiled, grimly. Not exactly the situation she'd expected to get into, but a fine challenge nonetheless. Spirit welled up inside her, the adrenaline of anticipation, knowing that soon enough, she'd have one hell of a fight on her hands. She wondered why, with his men all about him, he still wouldn't look her in the eye. She thought back over what she knew of Spanish culture, some of their superstitions, and grinned.

"Afraid of my Evil Eye?" she taunted.

The leader caught her smiling, and his humour was instantly gone. She saw a tiny hint of fear in his eyes, and his hand unconsciously rose to finger the amulet resting against his chest. The fear was gone almost before it appeared, and he angrily lowered his arm. In the next second the same arm shot out to grab her chin, gripping it roughly, squeezing her face as he pulled her towards him. She was forced to hop on her knees, following his command, so that she didn't fall completely into him.

"I don't know what you are planning to do next, bruja, but I can tell you, you will not destroy any more of my men," he spat at her, his rancid breath washing over her face. She couldn't speak with her jaw held so tightly in his large hand so she glared at him instead, speaking with her eyes. He averted his eyes instantly, but she knew her message had gotten across.

_Go to hell._

He made a sound of disgust and opened his mouth to speak, when she suddenly wrenched her head back, pulling out of his slightly loosened grip. She used all her force to throw her head forward, smashing into his face and forehead. She heard the snap of his nose before hearing his mighty roar of pain and anger. He grabbed onto the side of her head wildly, channeling his anger into shoving her sideways, knocking her over so that her head bounced off the ground before he reared backwards and up, clutching his heavily bleeding nose. He screamed out several commands, and suddenly grubby hands were grabbing her from all angles. She struggled, trying to throw them off and stand up, but they held her firmly to the ground. She heard the odd screaming from within the tents again.

In the next moment, the screaming cut off abruptly, and everything went silent. She sensed footsteps approaching her from behind. A gentle whistling of air was all she heard before a heavy object struck the back of her head and the world went black.

_To be Continued…_

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><p>Please let me know your thoughts! The more reviews, the faster I'll post ;) MSam<p> 


	3. Introductions

When Magnus woke the second time, the headache was worse than the first. She kept from throwing up by sheer strength of will. She could tell through her closed eyelids that it was still bright outside. Was it the same day, then? She concluded she'd woken up the first time early in the morning. She rapidly ran through her self-appraisal checklist. No new injuries, beside the compounded potential concussion. Thankfully her body was resistant to heat, and she didn't sweat a lot. The sticky, dirty feeling she felt all over her skin was bad enough without sweat dripping down.

She was on her knees once again, but this time she was bound to something in front of her. She opened her eyes a fraction, waiting for her vision to stop swimming, before a post came into view. Made of some sort of thin jungle tree, it was about 6 feet high and firmly rooted into the ground. Magnus shifted her head to the side and saw that she was in the exact center of the compound. Had this been here when she'd woken before but she hadn't seen it because it was behind her? Or had they erected it for her benefit? Either way, it was here now. Her hands were tied to a metal ring on the opposite side of the pole, at about chest height if she were standing. In her current position, her arms were being pulled up awkwardly, and she cringed when she tried to roll her shoulders. She contemplated feigning unconsciousness for a while longer to develop a plan, but with all the activity around her, she was sure someone would notice that she was awake. If they didn't, and continued to think Magnus unconscious, she would only be hit again when they decided to wake her up. She'd rather keep her head as clear as she could and think of a plan on the go.

She heard the screaming again. It didn't sound normal, but she couldn't figure out why.

She took a deep breath, and then tensed her arms, pulling herself up against the pole to stand on her feet. A surprised voice shouted out, and she saw the flap of the largest tent being thrown back, and the leader emerge, stalking purposely towards her. He stopped a few feet away. She stood just to the side of the pole, facing him. While she once again waited for him to speak first, she observed him further. He hadn't bandaged his broken nose at all. Her keenly trained eye could tell he had simply popped it back into its proper place, or so he hoped. She wanted to roll her eyes at the show of bravado. Then again, maybe it wasn't bravado at all. This was the kind of man who ignored pain, or thought of it as simply "weakness". It would be inconvenient and time consuming to set and bandage it properly, an unnecessary waste of supplies. The blood from his upper lip and chin had, however, been wiped off, and Magnus hoped that the cloth he'd used had been dirty. The thought went against all her usual medical morals, but she hadn't been practicing much in the way of medicine the last few years. She preferred to keep her schedule full with missions while deferring any medical work to whatever doctor she could find at the time. They were usually inept, and often made the abnormals worse rather than better. Yet another problem she couldn't seem to fix.

"I'm afraid we got off on the wrong foot before, my hechicera," said the man, an edge of tension to his voice. He opened his arms, palms up, in a gesture of apology as he bowed his head slightly.

"My name is Santos Gallrepa. Perhaps you have heard of me?"

Magnus refused to show any sign of recognition, though her heart sped up a fraction at hearing his name. He was the secret right hand man to Pablo Escobar, the most powerful drug lord in all Columbia, and member of the Columbian Congress. An average citizen wouldn't know Santos' name, but Magnus followed Escobar's exploits closely. He often tested his new products on abnormals, having a private hold of them in several of his mansions. She also knew for a fact that he had on at least five different occasions forced abnormals into carrying out assassinations, three of which had ended in the abnormals' deaths as well. Magnus had been trying to subtly gain information about the location and movements of his slaves. Now here she was, right in the middle of one of his operations. Were there abnormals in this camp? What were they doing here? Did Santos know who she was? It would be both good and bad if he did. At least he'd realize she wasn't a "witch" or "faerie," but then he would most certainly want to bring her, his prize, to Escobar.

Santos' look of expectation fell into disappointment at her apparent lack of recognition.

"May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?" he asked.

Maybe he didn't know who she was after all. Or was he just playing with her, baiting her, getting her to admit her own identity and confirm his suspicions?

She stayed silent.

"I am already growing tired of this game," he warned her, his voice low. "You will tell me what you did to Mauno and show me how to reverse it, or you will give me your powers so I may do it myself," he continued, walking forwards until he was standing barely a foot in front of her. He was several inches taller than her and presented an imposing figure. The stench of cigarettes, sweat, and general lack of hygiene made her stomach curl. Who the hell was Mauno? She made sure to stand fully erect so that her neck wasn't craning to look up at him. She raised her eyebrow.

"Or what?" she challenged. He grinned down at her, seeming to enjoy the game despite his verbal protests. Santos was a man who liked to get down to business, and he was pleased to see she was ready to jump along with him. He snapped his fingers, and a man nearby slipped into a tent to fetch something. He reappeared a moment later with a thick bullwhip. He ran up to Santos, who took it into his hand delicately, as if it were a precious, breakable relic.

"This belonged to a man named Fabio Restrepo. You must have heard of him? My friend Pablo had a difference of opinion with him some years ago. He asked me to help him out with this problem. Before I killed him, I took this from a glass case in his home and… reacquainted it, with its master." As he spoke, Santos stroked the strong, intricate wooden handle of his favourite weapon of persuasion, letting the long, braided leather uncoil and fall to the ground. She briefly wondered why he preferred a single whip, rather than the more common weapon of torture and interrogation, the cat-o-nine-tails.

Santos noted her look of speculation.

"You wonder why I choose this weapon, yes?" he said. Magnus could tell his gruff, military exterior hid a very sharp mind. "I like to see my work. Weapons with multiple ends cause such a mess. With this, I can paint a picture, one stroke at a time." As he spoke, his voice became soft, as if he were talking about an act he would perform with a lover. "I can hear the individual snap, watch as your skin opens up in just one, beautiful line. With other things, this would be over much too quickly. I need you to tell me what you did to Mauno, so if we must, we can take it slow."

Magnus had been hurt badly before, one could even say tortured, but never whipped. At least not with anything worse than a riding crop in the bedroom. She was disturbingly excited at the rush she knew she would get from this; the pain, the adrenaline, flowing through her veins, confirming that she was still alive.

"If you know of any spells to dull pain, I suggest you speak them now."

Santos stepped forward, crossing out of her line of vision to stand directly behind her. He grabbed the neckline of her shirt and with a quick, powerful pull, ripped a portion of it all the way down her back, baring her skin to him. He dropped the cloth to the ground and moved to stand several steps behind her. He waited a few moments, giving her the time he thought adequate to lay her incantations. She took the time to breathe deeply, steadying her heart rate, steeling herself for what was about to happen.

Magnus heard the crack of the whip before she felt anything. It echoed through the clearing, and she recalled the fact that experienced whip crackers could get their whip to travel faster than the speed of sound, thus the "boom" noise that was heard. She mused over this for just a moment before a rush of fire hit her back at full force, ripping across her nerves, making her bite straight through her lip in an effort not to scream. She could feel a thick line open up on her back, as though a zipper had been pulled, her skin peeling open to reveal its bloody secrets. The sides of her shirt that had caught some of the blow had been torn as if they were tissue paper – barely even there.

Through the ringing in her head, she heard Santos walk up to her. He reached out and stuck his thick fingers into the deep, gaping wound on her back. She gritted her teeth and groaned at the feel of his calloused fingers roughly caressing her inner flesh. He leaned in until he was almost pressed against her, brushing his stubbly cheek against hers. When he spoke, his hot, rancid breath washed over her.

"We don't have to do this, you know," he whispered, digging his fingers in. She could only imagine what dirt and grime he was spreading into her.

"What did you do to Mauno?" he asked.

"I have no idea who that is," she replied, bitingly. A bit of blood from her lip was spat out along with her words.

"Do not lie to me, bruja. You took him and did something to him. He was a very promising young man. I want him back."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she repeated.

He scraped his nails against her and she grimaced. Sweat finally started to bead on her forehead, and she felt a drop trickle down the side of her face.

"Then just tell me the secrets of your power," he said, changing tactics. "I will fix the boy myself."

He truly believed she was one of the faeries, some kind of sorceress.

"I have no powers."

He laughed, twisting his fingers. "Come now, do you think me so stupid? I have heard your brothers and sisters in this place. I know you have been watching us, planning your rituals. My men saw you with their own eyes performing your black magic. I am only thankful they rescued Mauno before you were able to complete your sorcery."

Magnus frowned. His men had obviously seen something happening to this Mauno boy. Had it been the faeries? Could they be responsible for the screaming she kept hearing from one of the tents? She didn't want to believe that the graceful, misunderstood people of legend could be dark and sinister after all. If they were, why did they live in hiding? Why not use their powers over the human mind and body to gain control and take over?

"I have no powers," she said again.

He growled, pulling his face away from hers and his fingers out of her back. He stalked backwards, raising his whip and cracking it down upon her before he'd even stopped walking away. She couldn't help a small moan escape her as beads of sweat popped out across her forehead.

"What are you?" he cried.

Another crack, and blood was dripping steadily down her back.

"Tell me of your powers!"

Two more lashes, and a louder cry escaped. Historically, people could die from only 20 strokes, Magnus thought fleetingly.

"I need to know your secrets!" His voice was quivering with rage. He wanted her to break, to hear her scream, before she gave an example of her power. He wanted her to use her magic to escape her restraints. Enough men were watching the proceedings that if she did get free, they could shoot her down before she did any damage.

Another three lashes, and she had wrapped her arms around the pole, hugging it desperately in an attempt to stay standing as her knees shook. Behind her, Santos nodded to one of his men. Magnus tried to follow his movements as he approached her but found herself unable to focus, her vision blurry. When had tears appeared? She saw him raise something black and bulky. The man, Moises, brought the butt of his AK-47 straight down onto her kneecap, shattering it. She finally screamed, and dropped to the ground, her shoulders wrenching as she was stretched too far. A final lash connected with her back, and she screamed again. Unbeknownst to the soldiers, Magnus, or Santos, several pairs of eyes were watching the scene, hidden among the trees, flinching with every crack of the whip but staying still.

Santos, grinning with eyes alight, walked up and knelt beside Magnus, brushing her sweaty bangs away from her face.

"Give me your powers," he crooned. "I'm sure I can use them to heal you, yes?"

He needed them, her powers, to get rid of the hijo de puta, Escobar. The man was a criminal genius, yes, but nothing compared to what Santos could be. His very name meant Holy, Saint. God had gifted him this life so that he could rise up and bring a new age to the people of Columbia. He needed, no, he deserved, the powers of the bruja. He was sick of acting as a lackey to lesser men than he.

Magnus knew there was no point in denying she was a faerie. It would accomplish nothing. Her chest heaved in the effort to control her breathing, ignore the sweat dripping down her back into the myriad of open gashes, stinging and burning. She tried to form words in her agony-addled brain, but it was difficult. Maybe he wanted her to ask him to stop, to beg. He had no idea that she welcomed the pain, embraced it. She hadn't felt anything like this in years, decades. His anger towards her, his hate, was raw and unbridled. He was nothing like the sniveling, falsely genuine idiots that she worked with on a daily basis.

Magnus finally forced her mouth to form words, though tears still streamed down her face.

"We can't give our powers to weak, pathetic humans," she said, her low voice full of venom.

He was silent, gazing at her back, which was torn to shreds. He'd done a good job on her, perhaps his best. He liked the way she screamed.

He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by one of his men, sweeping the flap of a tent aside and calling to him urgently.

"Sir, I've got something on the radio! It's Escobar!"

Santos cursed under his breath. The high of interrogation was running strong through his veins and he hated to leave right as he was starting to make headway. But he knew this couldn't wait. They were only able to pick up on Escobar's transmissions every few days, and they were absolutely essential in the scheduling and planning of his bands' movements. It was a dangerous game of cat and mouse, and he feared that a confrontation was rapidly approaching. His face contorted into a mask of anger and contemplation as he thought, and he felt a spike of pain from his nose. He didn't let it show, but vented his heightened anger in a hiss.

He cursed again, wielding his whip one final time, channeling his rage into an impact so hard Magnus barely had time to scream before passing out.

_To be continued…_

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><p>AN: Any and all feedback outrageously welcomed, as usual I try to reply to each one… I'm SO sorry if I've ever somehow skipped past anyone! Seems I've taken to posting a new chapter every Friday… Fyi ;) Though next week I've a feeling I'll be posting THURSDAY instead :O So watch out! :D MSam


	4. Trials

**Previously, on Faerie Tale**

_Santos cursed under his breath. The high of interrogation was running strong through his veins and he hated to leave right as he was starting to make headway. But he knew this couldn't wait. They were only able to pick up on Escobar's transmissions every few days, and they were absolutely essential in the scheduling and planning of his bands' movements. It was a dangerous game of cat and mouse, and he feared that a confrontation was rapidly approaching. His face contorted into a mask of anger and contemplation as he thought, and he felt a spike of pain from his nose. He didn't let it show, but vented his heightened anger in a hiss._

_He cursed again, wielding his whip one final time, channelling his rage into an impact so hard Magnus barely had time to scream before passing out._

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><p>Santos swiftly wrapped the whip around its handle as he stalked to the communications tent, throwing the flap aside and entering.<p>

It was even hotter in the tent than it was outside. There were large scale radios, signal boosters, and portable power units. The humming of their machinations created a constant, low buzzing, and the heat they emanated contributed to the dank mugginess. Anywhere from one to four men occupied this tent at one time. With the addition of Santos, the small enclosure was crowded and sweaty.

"What is it?" he growled at the man seated on a crate in front of a small table that held the main radio. The frightened man held one half of a large pair of headphones against his ear, listening intently. After a few moments, he turned to his leader.

"He's found us," he said simply.

"Damnit!" Santos swore. "How many?"

"About 40 men altogether."

They were outnumbered.

"How long until they get here?"

"Three days. Maybe two."

Santos' mind raced with calculations: How long it would take to pack up their camp, who he would send ahead to secure a new site, how they could camouflage the damage they'd done to this one so that Escobar's men wouldn't know they'd been here… how long he had to convince the bruja to spill her secrets.

He gestured for the man at the radio to follow him, leading him out of the comms area and into the strategic operations tent. It held a much bigger table with maps, lists of supplies, and other paperwork strewn across it. The large man rifled through the papers, latching onto the one he needed and sweeping everything else off with one move of his thick arm. One of the two men who had already been in the tent immediately dropped down to clean up the mess and reorganize the documents into their proper piles.

Santos rolled out the map he'd chosen and quickly began outlining the route his men would take to their next settlement. Most of the paper was unlabeled, unexplored territory. He'd been hoping for a few more days of recon, allowing his scouts to find a prime location, but there was no time for that. He would simply have to choose a passable path and find a camp along the way. He would travel south, and perhaps a bit east, as far away from Columbia as possible. As he worked, he started shouting orders to his men to pack up non-essentials. With any luck they could be ready and moving out within a day. He admitted to himself he could be quicker if not for the problem of the witch. But he needed some more time with her, and knew that his men were equally fascinated. They could make up for lost time on their march.

Santos shook his head, frustrated at his fixation on the fey. His men were simple soldiers, versed in brutality and violence, not strategy and planning. If they saw his focus wavering, they would start to flounder. Doubt could kill a leader as well as any bullet.

Out of the corner of his eyes he could see his men standing tense with apprehension, wondering why their leader was so silent. Santos suddenly banged his fist on the table, making his men snap to attention.

"Get a move on, you dogs!" he yelled. "Did I not order you to inventory the food supplies?"

Three men nodded gruffly and left the room. One stayed behind.

"Juan." Santos nodded his acknowledgment of the small man with the sunken face. If a brown skinned man could be called sallow, Juan would be. The man chose to wear black as much as possible, despite the heat it soaked up. It only increased his pallor, and made the numerous scars on his face stand out. Santos knew he wore them as a sign of pride and intimidation. Juan, of all his men, would be the one to take over if Santos died. He was a master of weaponry, and despite the fact he rarely spoke, his mind was sharp and aware. When he did speak, his words were clear, cold and concise. Santos had been working with him for a long time and trusted him like no other.

"Tell me if I get off track," Santos commanded him. Juan nodded, knowing exactly what his leader meant.

"Start with the weapons," Santos continued. "I'm going to get something to eat." He started to leave the tent, but paused in the doorway. He spoke over his shoulder.

"Prepare Mauno."

Juan's listless eyes followed him out, curling up into a grin when he had left.

The bruja was getting under Santos' skin. He hid it well, but Juan had never seen Santos so suddenly attached to an interrogation. He was already getting off track, and Juan had no intention of putting him back in line.

Outside, Santos headed straight for the "canteen" tent. No matter how consumed with an interrogation he became, he never forgot to eat. His body and mind needed to be properly fueled to work at maximum efficiency. The canteen, as with all the other tents, seemed too crowded, hot, and smelled bad. With no refrigeration, all supplies had to be dried, cooked by hot water or fire, or eaten quickly. The soldiers mainly subsisted off of various dried meats, breads, beans, coffee, and a few dried fruits or pickled vegetables. It seemed silly that in such a lush, abundant forest they should be lacking fresh fruit and vegetables, but unless the men found some food they thought wasn't poisonous on route, they were simply too delicate to pack, and went bad too quickly. It was a special occasion when the cooks made a fresh stew. As Santos grabbed some rations, he took a moment to breathe, and his mind immediately landed back on the witch. He ripped off a piece of jerky and chewed on it while he walked back outside to where she was still unconscious, tied to the pole.

She was slumped against the thick beam, cheek and a bit of her forehead resting against it, and her arms were pulled tight as she hung from the ropes. Her back was a vivid red, shimmering and glossy in the bright sunlight. Scattered throughout the deep, intersecting trenches, pockets of blood were oozing. Her dark hair was mostly hung forwards, but a few long strands fell down to her back and were sticking to the topmost wounds, by her shoulders. The back of her shirt had dissolved. The only remnants left were bits and pieces that couldn't be distinguished from flesh, as bloodied as they were.

It was beautiful.

He relished the hunt for information in her. He was a patient man who liked to draw interrogations out as long as possible. He hated being rushed, as he now was. He had been planning on letting the bruja simmer for a few days, let the pain of his work start to digest, then begin letting her sample some of his specialty wares. Could a faerie even be affected by cocaine? He longed to find out, and cursed the fact that this witch would not be the one to answer that question. When would he ever have the chance to work with such a perfect specimen again? Through all his years as a soldier, by his upbringing itself, Santos had been inundated with the unfortunate need for prioritizing. As much as he wanted to break this "woman", as desperately as he craved her submission, he knew his life and the lives of his men came first. He had to step things up in his questioning; there was simply no time to toy with her anymore.

She would confess her secrets, or die.

Santos was still eating his meal when Magnus regained consciousness. One of the first things she registered was the smell of cured meat, and she gagged. She then heard the sound of deep, rumbling laughter, and she gritted her teeth together, commanding her stomach to settle and not heave its contents as it wished.

Several men around the clearing, though packing up, noticed her struggles, and slowed what they were doing. When they saw Santos intently focus on her, they stopped completely and moved into a circle around the two people. They knew Santos enjoyed an audience.

Santos watched as Magnus' body shook slightly, wishing he could see her face through her hair as she worked to control herself. He suddenly wanted her to throw up. He leaned in close, putting his cheek against the hair that covered her. He angled his face in so his breath rattled her hair and got through to her nose.

"Would you like a snack, bruja?" he whispered. She couldn't stand the smell of his breath, an indefinable meat and something like old bread, and opened her mouth to try breathe instead, but her stomach immediately realized it had an opening through which to eject its nausea. She clamped her mouth shut again and tried to deal with the breath instead.

"You must be hungry by now, my dear," Santos continued. "I don't know how much you need to eat, but surely no creature can survive without some kind of sustenance?"

Magnus was thankful for her terrible eating habits as of late. How many days would she sometimes go without food? She normally didn't have the exertion of jungle climates and torture burning away the calories, but still. She could handle it. Eating was the last thing on her mind anyways. She'd much rather kill Santos and get out of this hell hole.

"I'm sure your friends would be very upset if they found you wasted away to nothing." As he spoke, Santos trailed his fingers along her side, under the torn edge of her shirt and down to her stomach. She didn't flinch at his dirty fingers soiling her skin, and she didn't think of her friends back home who hadn't wanted her to go on this mission.

He took a while stroking her, but his hand never strayed to inappropriate places. She was trying to think of how she could take advantage of his closeness to strike at him, maybe get him to drop a weapon or a tool of some sort that she could grab and hide, but never got the chance to formulate a plan. His hand left its place under her shirt, and he rocked back on his heels, shaking his head at her.

"You are a wonder," he admitted, letting his awe leak through into his voice. His heart clenched a bit as he thought about Escobar closing in on them. He had to do this now. Damnit. He looked over his shoulder and nodded at a few men. Juan would have told them what to do.

He leaned in close to her again.

"What," he said very softly, "were you doing with the boy, Mauno?"

Magnus hadn't noticed that several men had left the circle around her, ducking into a tent, but now she could hear them struggling with something, Spanish curses floated to her ears. Two men emerged carrying something between them, while two others kept their guns trained on it. They hauled the creature over to her, forcing it onto its knees when they were a few feet away. A rope was secured around its neck, the end held tightly in hand by the strongest soldier in the compound.

Even through her foggy eyes, Magnus could tell whatever it was was not normal, not human. It had two arms and legs, but most similarities stopped there. Its hair was wild, growing up and out, a charred black colour, like it'd been electrified. Instead of eyes, its eye sockets were filled with a putrid, green-coloured fluid with no pupils or irises. The liquid mass seemed to shift and undulate in a dizzying, chaotic manner. It had no teeth, just a black, gaping hole that emitted strange noises and a disfigured black tongue that looked more like a snake than anything else. Its dark skin, pulled taut over its frame, was crackled in a pattern that resembled scales. The creature's whole body was thin, emaciated, his skin _too_ tight, like he had been stretched and pulled, unnaturally, its limbs too long for its small body. Magnus felt sick looking at it. Was this Mauno? She was saddened and horrified by the thought that this may have once been a young boy. What had happened to him? What had the Fey been meaning to do?

"What did you do to him?" Santos hissed.

"It wasn't us," she insisted.

"I can see the grief in your face, the guilt. I will not hold you responsible for the crimes of your people. Give me your magic so that I may heal this innocent boy!" he demanded.

"I can't do that."

Santos swore under his breath. A stubborn species. He stood up and moved to the creature. He bent down, whispering into its head where its ears used to be, knowing it could still hear him somehow. He told it that this was the thing that had done this to him. This is who had taken his life from him. Would he like to show her what she'd done? Would he like to take his revenge?

Santos stood up and backed away, looking to the handlers, and blinking once. The men nodded grimly, each taking a deep breath. In unison, they released their grip on the creature and swiftly backed away. With a feral cry, it leapt forward, hands outstretched.

It grabbed Magnus' face and neck, holding tight, and her eyes went round with shock before she started to scream. One hand felt like fire while the other was ice. She felt like she was being dipped into a pool of lava then doused in pure liquid nitrogen. It held her tight, its empty stare gazing into her eyes, and she found herself unable to tear herself away, though the roiling, green light seemed to pierce into her head, making her nauseous, sick with a pounding head pain. It moved Its hands to her shoulders, down her arms, sharp nails digging in, and she tried to move her body, jerk it away from its excruciating touch. She had to get it to stop, but she couldn't, bound and unable to stand as she was. After what seemed like hours, but was only minutes, the creature pulled its hands off of her and she took a great, gasping breath. Her head swam, and the noises around her were oddly disjointed, distant. Mauno reached up to the ropes tying her to the pole and cut through them with one swift pass of his claws. Her arms suddenly freed, the unsuspecting Magnus wasn't ready to keep herself steady on her knees and fell to the side.

Through the chaos in her mind, she still somehow knew it would be bad to land on her back, so she forced herself into an awkward side position, ignoring the flares shooting out of her destroyed knee. Her efforts were in vain, for in the next second Mauno was upon her, grabbing her shoulders with his searing grip and forcing her onto her back. She felt dirt, grass, twigs, maybe even a few empty gun shells sink into her gaping wounds and thought she would pass out. Blood continued to ooze out of her, coating the ground underneath until the patchy grass was warm and slippery. She hazily wondered if his touch left burns in its wake when she felt a cool, soft caress on her face. She forced her eyes to open. Mauno was licking her.

_What the hell?_

His black, twisted tongue was lapping at her, but in its wake was numbness and comfort. If there were burns, he was healing them.

_What the hell?_

He flipped her onto her stomach, and she let tears silently leak onto the ground. Her back was… it was unimaginable. She secretly hoped he would offer her some modicum of relief, but Santos' deep voice commanded him to stop. She heard scuffling, and soon the same deep voice was right beside her, speaking softly.

"I can let him continue," he offered. "You at least did something right for him. An amazing ability he has, no?"

She didn't reply.

"I know you must hurt. I guess you don't have any protective spells after all?" He was disappointed. So much for his dreams of walking up to Escobar and murdering him on the spot, unafraid of retaliation from his guards and servants. "I can make it all go away. There is no need for more suffering. Someone so beautiful should never experience what you have."

He unwittingly triggered memories of times past, memories of pain and anguish, both emotional and physical. When Amelia's plane had disappeared…the icy grip of certain death as she floundered in the cold water, the unsinkable ship already out of sight….when John had left… No, she shouldn't have gone through all that. Everyone in the world suffered these pains, but what had she done to deserve this unceasing supply of them?

Santos saw her thinking, and knew he was finally getting through to her.

"You must have seen so much in your life… so much pain, hatred, shameful actions. Maybe you tried to help those you saw who were suffering?"

He didn't know how close to the truth he was hitting. Though she wasn't the ancient Faerie he thought she was, the same issues still applied.

"You won't be able to help anyone if you die today. All your years of sacrifice and toil will be for nothing."

He reached out to stroke her dirty cheek, gently. This would be his final attempt to reason with her; he was on a strict time table. Escobar's lackeys were getting closer with every hour. If he couldn't get what he needed out of her…. He certainly couldn't haul her along with him while he and his men moved to a new location.

"Is it really so terrible a thing to share with me just a bit of your power? I want the same thing as you – to help my people! We can stop your pain and mine, together."

He could certainly be smooth.

Magnus gritted her teeth and moved her head so she was looking at him. She was sure she looked as undignified as possible, but her eyes still pierced him as she spoke. She spoke in a dialect of Usbeki Arabic. It was only spoken by a few hundred people in the Bukhara province of Uzbekistan. She had spent a few months there once, working with the population of the small village on a problem they had had with odd, ground dwelling abnormals that were upsetting the land. There was no way any of these men would know the language.

She spoke in a half hushed whisper, sometimes growing louder before going down to a whisper again. The words she spoke meant nothing, simple phrases, bits of scientific babble, whatever came to her mind, but to the ears of Santos and his men, ignorant of any language but their own, the words were their worst fears come to life. The witch had finally awoken and was casting her evil spells. The superstition ingrained in them took hold of their hearts, squeezing fear and panic into their minds, adrenaline surging through their veins.

For the first few moments Santos was transfixed by her lilting voice, but all too soon he snapped out of it. His own voice barely shook, a testament to his strength of mind, as he shouted orders to his men. They rushed forward with ropes in hand. Several knelt down beside her, hauling her upwards, heedless of her blood on their hands as they quickly stuffed a dirty, dusty rag into her mouth to shut her up. She started to gag, coughing at the dryness, but they ignored her as they hurried to tie her up again. Something struck her head from behind, and her world went black once more.

_To Be Continued…_

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><p>Has anyone been keeping count of how many times Magnus has been knocked unconcious this fic...? Because I sure haven't. Yeesh. *shakes head at self* Poor girl! Will she get a break in the next chapter, I wonder? MSam<p> 


	5. Endings

A/N: This chapter is for my friend Pavor Nocturnus/Shamie4. I hope this can provide some amount of distraction from your current turmoil. *hugs*

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><p>When Magnus awoke, it was nearly night. The sun was fading quickly, and the air was rapidly cooling as the orangey red sky turned to purple. She was grateful for the reprieve from light. How many times had her head been smashed in in the last 48 hours? She couldn't recall, nor could she couldn't decide what hurt the most; her head, her back or her knee. All around her, the camp was a hive of activity. Men were constantly shouting to one another as they worked. Tents were being pulled down, tools packed up, and food wrapped into whatever sacks were mildly clean. There were no guards surrounding her. She shook her head at Santos' foolishness. Did he think her beaten enough not to be able to escape? Her body may be failing, but her mind, at least in this new darkness, was able to muddle through its pounding and still work. She wondered if she was thankful for that or not.<p>

Did she even want to escape? The pain was terrible, yes, but as she'd already discovered, it made her feel alive again. She knew Santos' enemy was closing in. Would Santos' desire for her powers force him to bring her along? Or would he see her as a liability, a fond, temporary distraction that now needed to be disposed of?

She decided if she were to die soon, it might as well be in the same vein of adventure as her life had been. Trying to escape would at least be more thrilling than waiting around to die.

It was the first moment since capture that she wasn't being monitored, and she set to work testing her bonds. They were tight and well knotted, but her wrists were slick with blood from where they'd been rubbing, and she hoped to use that to her advantage. Her temporary hope died quickly as her careful ministrations only managed to tighten the ropes. She quickly scanned the ground around her, looking for any kind of sharp object, a stick, even, that she could use to either cut through or wedge into the ropes. There was nothing.

_No, wait!_

Off to Magnus' left lay a small object. Her eyes couldn't focus enough to see what it was, but it was better than nothing. On instinct, she moved to reach out with her left leg and snag it with her foot, but the movement caused her to shift all her weight onto her crushed kneecap. She moaned, righting herself and squeezing her eyes shut, praying no one had heard her. When she reopened them, everyone was still going about their business. She rested her forehead against the wooden beam as she re-gathered her strength for another go. She would have to take all her weight with her arms, holding any pressure off her knee, while she quickly gathered the object and slid it towards her. She would deal with getting it up to her hands, and the ropes, later.

She gripped the rope in her hands and experimentally pulled herself up. Her aching shoulders screamed in irritation but she figured if she was quick, it would be manageable. In either case, it was far better than upsetting her knee again. She took one last calculating glance around her and, finding no one watching, closed her eyes and took a deep, preparatory breath. She tensed her muscles and hauled herself up, quickly shooting out her leg to the left, hooking the curve of her foot around the object, and sweeping it to her. The entire operation took only a few seconds yet she was completely exhausted. Magnus let her muscles relax, unable to stop herself from dropping down and jarring her shoulders yet again. She was breathing heavily, and a stream of sweat rolled down her face. For several moments she had to fight just to breathe.

When she managed to compose herself, she opened her eyes to view her prize.

A stick.

Funny how in the largest forest in the world, such a tiny, innocuous piece of wood could bring Magnus such wonder and hope. Now how the hell did she get it into the ropes binding her hands? She was usually flexible, but with one leg out of commission, she couldn't even try to maneuver the other to somehow flick the stick up to where she could catch it. As she calculated the physics of what was needed to get the stick to her hands, Magnus realized it was hopeless. The tiny bit of promise lay there, in her sight, taunting her. With a sigh, she leaned her forehead against the post, and felt a little prick. Focusing hard in the quickly fading light, she saw a tiny splinter sticking out of the post. The rest of the standing trunk was smooth, slippery with her blood, but right there in front of her another spark of hope presented itself.

She took a deep breath and leaned forward, baring her teeth.

Within a few minutes, though her lips and mouth were cut and bleeding, Magnus managed to gnaw off a decent size strip of wood. While she'd been working, she thought of her friend Jennifer. The British Columbia resident would surely be sent into fits of laughter if she knew the mighty Magnus had taken up chewing on logs like her country's national animal.

With her prize firmly in her teeth, Magnus started on the task of standing up. Never before had it been so difficult. Her left leg shook every time she tried to use it, not used to taking the entire weight of her body. With difficulty, she managed to use her arms, wrapped tight around the pole to help balance herself as she slowly stood up. Some of the men finally noticed she was awake but paid her no heed. They were focused on tearing the camp down; it was up to Santos to decide what to do with the witch. Unconsciously, the men tucked their various amulets and talismans under their shirts, touching their skin for protection.

When she was fully upright and the world stopped spinning, Magnus wrapped herself around the pole as much as she could, straining to reach her head around and pass the stick into her hands. With scrambling fingers, she was able to grab the tip of it and pull it in. She immediately went to work finding the heart of the knot, trying to insert the stick into it, hoping to pry the ropes free. The knot was tight from the pressure of her hanging for so long, but the fates were finally in her favour. She had to twist her wrists awkwardly to work the stick into the knot, which caused the raw, broken skin to rub against the harsh rope, but she ignored it. At one point she feared the somewhat flexible piece of wood had reached its limits and would snap, but much to her relief and, she admitted, surprise, it didn't. Within a few minutes she had created a space big enough to work her fingers into. She work mostly by feel, as she couldn't reach her neck far enough around the pole to be able to see.

When the rope was finally loose enough that she thought she could pull out of it, Magnus paused. She was sure that as soon as the ropes hit the ground, someone would notice, so she'd have to move fast. There was no way she would make it out of the clearing before someone approached her, so she made sure to keep the small stick in her hand, the only weapon she had besides her fists. She'd thought about keeping the rope, but while she'd been able to loosen the knots enough to free her wrists, she couldn't unravel it. She didn't have time to waste figuring out how to pull it apart into a useable weapon. She realized the men had finished packing up, and were gathering in a group to go over their plan. Adrenaline started to flood her veins as she knew her time was nearing. It helped mask the pain, just a bit, and for that small miracle she was thankful.

She had no idea how far or in what direction the guerillas had brought her during her initial capture, but she decided to head north west, with the eventual goal of finding either Diogo's clearing or Manaus. She figured Santos would have been travelling south east, away from Columbia but also opposite to where she wanted to go, and needed to make up the extra distance. In the state she was in, her only real hope was to get a small ways away from the clearing before hiding, and pray that the growing darkness would conceal her. Or that the urgency of moving camp would override the need to recapture her.

With her basic plan in place, Magnus decided it was now or never. Waiting for it to get darker would only hinder her own eyesight, and her body would only grow more tired. With a few deep breaths, she slipped her wrists through the loops she'd made, grateful that the rope stayed bound around the metal ring it was attached to. A second later she was running, well, something halfway between hopping on one leg and hobbling, towards the thick, dark forest and its promise of cover. Much sooner than she'd hoped, she heard the sound of footsteps starting towards her. She'd forgotten about sentries, placed around the perimeter. She kept moving as fast as she could, straight towards the guard blocking her path. When he was almost on top of her, she swung her arm suddenly, wielding her tiny stick, stabbing it cleanly into the man's neck. With a short gasp of surprise his eyes went wide, and he fell. She reached out and grabbed his gun as he did. Two more men were now coming at her from the right, but she turned around, continuing her flight towards the jungle. A few dozen feet had never seemed like such a distance, as she glanced to the side and fired, catching one of her pursuers in the leg and putting him out of the race. A moment later she caught the other one in the chest.

With the sound of gunshots, the circle of men stopped their talk abruptly, and looked over. It took the trained soldiers only moments to realize what was going on. Santos saw his prize possession fleeing, and ordered a few men to start running after her. One of the men who stayed behind, Mateo, raised his firearm. With practiced skill, he found Magnus in the rifles sights, tracking her for a moment before pulling the trigger. The bullet flew straight through her left shoulder and she pitched forward, falling roughly to the ground, twisting her wrecked knee even further. Stars erupted in her vision as she hit the ground, but she immediately hauled herself up, trying to crawl forward with only the use of her right arm and left leg. Within seconds, the men who'd elected to run after her had caught up. They grabbed her by the arms and hauled her upwards, regardless of all injuries. She cried out as her body screamed in protest.

She tried to struggle away, but the grip on her limbs only tightened. One of the men pulled back his arm and punched her shoulder where the bullet had gone through. Then someone kicked her in the side and she doubled over. In the next instant she was on the ground with boots and fists connecting with whatever part of her they could find. She supposed that when they saw that bullet could go through her, and the thrill of a hunt started to boil in their veins, their superstitions and fears were thrust to the side. Her vision was greying around the edges when the rain of blows finally stopped. A deep, angry voice spoke above her but her mind swam and she couldn't understand the words. They were repeated, louder, and she realized Santos was speaking to her.

"…hospitality?" he was saying. "I was enjoying our conversations, so." He paused for a moment.

"You know I was going to let you go," he said. She snorted, and ignored the blood that escaped her mouth and speckled the ground as she did.

"I was!" he protested. "I'm sure you would have found a way to survive. It was my hope that you would, so that one day we could meet again, and have time for a proper few days together. I know that we could have found a compromise, if we'd had some more time with one another."

Magnus found herself believing him. Such a man did not like to give up. She was sure he would have hunted her to his dying day.

The tall man looked down at her huddled form, wondering if he would finally get to see a demonstration of her power. A healing aura surrounding her, or maybe her wounds could just start closing by themselves. One of his men coughed, and his reverie was over. He remembered Escobar, and the need to relocate as fast as possible. With a curse, he turned back to his men.

"Move out!" he commanded.

"But Santos…" one of his men protested. It was one of the three who had been beating her. He gestured towards her body, inquiring.

"Leave her."

The man's eyes widened in surprise, and he opened his mouth to protest, but the gleam in his leader's eyes stopped him. He bowed his head in acquiescence, and ran back to grab his gear, and join the procession of men that started walking into the jungle.

Magnus lay in a heap, unmoving. Her hopes of escape, even though she'd been granted permission, were fading as fast as the blood that was flowing out of her shoulder.

She just didn't care anymore. As she thought about her life, she started asking questions. Was she really accomplishing what she'd set out to do all those years before? Where had it gotten her? She and James were the only surviving members of The Five, as far as she knew, and she barely even talked to him anymore. If time could cause friends to drift apart, what could lifetimes accomplish? Yes, she loved her work, and knew it was important but damnit, how much could be asked of one person? She hadn't had a promising protégé in years, and while she did have a special place in her heart for her butler… 134 years was enough. She couldn't do it any longer. There was no point putting herself through more pain. If she was finally going to go, she'd said she'd go out guns blazing, and be glad of it. It didn't matter if these faerie people even existed or not – she was fighting for her cause.

Santos had spoken of her sacrifice, her toil being for nothing if she died today. She didn't believe that. Her network, though in turmoil right now, would survive. She had a few loyal friends spread throughout the world still who would not let her memory, her mission, fade. She didn't need to take any more of this.

She listened to the sounds of the men as the clearing slowly emptied. One last bit of strength suddenly swelled up, unexpectedly. The men had believed her so incapacitated that they hadn't bothered to take back the gun she'd stolen. Magnus wasn't an inherently violent person. She was primarily a doctor, she helped people, she didn't harm them. Nevertheless, she felt the need to make one last impact on this world, put a few more of the bad guys out of the way, make things a bit easier for their future, potential victims. If there were faeries in this endless forest, maybe this would help even out their chances. With a deep breath, she summoned this new strength to roll onto her side, facing the camp. With weak fingers, she clutched the gun and shifted where it lay on the ground to face the retreating men. The sights on the weapon twisted and pitched in her foggy eyes, and her finger shook as it squeezed the trigger, but the shot flew into the mass of men and she saw a figure drop to the ground. She squeezed again, and another fell.

Much to her surprise, no one came back to finish her. Every man had heard Santos' order to leave her be. They didn't dare face the retribution he would wreak if they defied him. Instead, they started to run, and in a moment all her targets had disappeared, and she was alone.

Or at least, she thought she was.

A small figure emerged from the forest behind her, as if appearing from thin air. Magnus only became aware of its presence as she heard the booted feet come to a stop behind her. The man didn't say a word, simply waited patiently while Magnus fell onto her back to look up at him. The man was small and sallow, even in the grey evening. She waited for him to speak, but he didn't. He only stood there, looking down at her with blank eyes. In many ways, this small man was more intimidating than the hulking Santos. She couldn't quite read the expression on his face. She finally noticed the handgun resting comfortably in his grip, and swallowed. She looked straight into his eyes, and knew what he was thinking. She wondered briefly if Santos knew about this.

Without a single groan or cry, she turned onto her stomach and used her right arm to push herself up. Her entire body was in such pain that she no longer noticed the sliding of shards in her knee. Her breathing was coming in short, quick gasps as she sat up on her knees, as high as she could. She raised her chin and held her head high as she felt the hard press of a gun barrel rise up and press against the back of her skull. She didn't think anything profound, she didn't really think about anything at all. She just gazed out at the magnificent, looming trees, just across the empty camp.

The shot rang out clear against a suddenly silent jungle.

_To be continued…_

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><p>Nawwww, I wouldn't actually KILL Magnus… … Would I? ;) MS<p> 


	6. Second Chance

A/N: SURPRISE! Early chapter! I hope everyone manages to find it alright! I'm heading out in a few hours to DragonCon in Atlanta, Georgia, (meeting Magnus herself! Weeh) and know I will be nowhere close to a computer for several days, thus early chapter :D I'll be away for a while after the con as well, so there might be another mid-week posting next week, if I can find a computer. If not... there might be a wee break :( Hope you enjoy!

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><p>Previously, on "Faerie Tale"<p>

_She raised her chin and held her head high as she felt the hard press of a gun barrel rise up and press against the back of her skull. She didn't think anything profound, she didn't really think about anything at all. She just gazed out at the magnificent, looming trees, just across the empty camp._

_The shot rang out clear against a suddenly silent jungle._

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><p>Juan looked down at Magnus' still body. The blood leaking from her head was black in the darkness of dusk. He leaned down and put his fingers against her throat to ensure that she was dead. He was always thorough in his kills, and with this, his first supernatural target, he had to be extra careful. After 10 minutes, he was satisfied, and stood again.<p>

He thought of Santos. The fixation, obsession, the man had with this woman. It wasn't healthy. Santos had always been a focused individual, setting his sights on something and not resting until he had achieved his goal. Juan had always respected that, but this situation was different. Juan had always been warily fearful of the supernatural. He wasn't a cowering fool like many of his colleagues, but he knew to never underestimate something one didn't understand. He hadn't seen any evidence that this woman was actually a faerie at all, but Santos was blind to this. He had it set in his mind that she would be his salvation, and he would never give that up.

Juan would not tell him that his pet was dead. He would let Santos continue his futile search. The men were increasingly anxious about Escobar, and now that the witch had killed five of them, their forces were even more uneven. The men would remain silent for now, but soon enough they would start to question Santos' decisions. His control would slip further and further, while Juan watched and waited. When they finally realized their great leader was mad, Juan would be there, ready to step up and save them.

All he needed was time, and Juan was a patient man.

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><p>The next thing Magnus knew, she was alive.<p>

At least, she thought she was. How, she had no idea. All she knew was that she felt as if she were floating on a cloud. She tried to open her eyes but couldn't. In fact, she couldn't move anything at all. This should have concerned her, but it didn't. She should have worried that she couldn't feel her chest rising and falling with each breath, but she wasn't. Although she was paralyzed, she wasn't completely still. She was drifting, swaying softly while staying in the same general spot.

She was warm.

She should have been in pain, should have been screaming and writhing, her brain unable to form coherent thoughts, but her mind was perfectly clear, clearer than it had been in years, and she felt no pain or discomfort of any kind. She was warm, soft, and safe. She knew with absolute certainty that no danger would befall her so long as she was in this place.

Whatever, wherever this place was.

As her mind continued to awaken Magnus, realized that she was, indeed, floating. Not on a cloud, but on water. She couldn't hear a thing, which was very odd, assuming she was still in the jungle. When someone else entered the pool, or whatever it was she was in, she could feel it. The water surrounding her didn't move, didn't ripple, but she knew another being was close.

Something soft touched her skin, and she realized she was naked. The list of concerns was piling up, but having just lived through death she remained impassive. Maybe she'd been drugged. At this point, she didn't know or care. Her mind was entirely focused on the warm, wet sensations travelling over her body. She felt a tiny sting, and realized she wasn't perfectly healed after all. As the sensations moved slowly across her skin, a deep warmth spread through her, and the stinging vanished. It was as if liquid peace was being poured over her body and soul, spreading from the top of her scalp to the tips of her toes. The pain was gone, and the dark thoughts that had plagued her mind for the last two decades were seeping away. She couldn't even remember the reasons for her rage. As her body filled with warmth, she felt her mind drifting away. Years later she would look back on the experience and try to compare it to the effects of a myriad of medicinal and illegal drugs, but she would always find herself coming up short. Nothing she'd ever tried had elicited half the out of body sensation that she'd felt that day. In her mind she smiled, and gave herself up to it, surrendered to its gentle will, and soon she fell into not black, but soft, white unconsciousness.

When Magnus came to, she knew she was out of the water. Still warm, still soft, but now immeasurably comfortable. She sighed, and noted that her chest moved up and down because of it. It took her a few moments to open her eyes, but not because she was groggy; it was like waking from a very deep and satisfying sleep. You didn't want to wake up, but after a rest that good, you believed when you opened your eyes the world could be a better place.

The first thing she registered was light; vivid, but not blinding. A roof of green, far above her, shielded her from the harsh sunlight. Trees. Without moving her head, she took in her surroundings. She was in the middle of a clearing; elevated on what she assumed was a large rock. She surmised that it was covered in moss of some kind, because it was more comfortable than any bed she'd ever slept in.

The foliage around her was intense. She had never seen so many different shades of bright green, orange, yellow, pink, red, purple and blue. She'd been in rainforests in full bloom before, but this was liked being in the middle of a painting, one that the painter had simply poured colour onto. It was so stunning that Magnus felt content to simply lie where she was, looking at it. The clearing was around 30 feet in diameter, but she could see no reason for the stoppage of growth. There were no machete marks, no nets, nothing to keep the wild jungle at bay. The ground was a bright green grass that looked to be uniformly a foot or so high. The whole area seemed engineered by man, its perfection unnatural, but Magnus knew it wasn't mankind that had made this. Something else had created this oasis.

As she started to experimentally wiggle her toes, she realized she still couldn't hear anything. The gentlest of breezes sighing through the trees, perhaps, but no animals or humans, none of the harsh, guttural noises of the Guerilla camp. It was as if she were contained in a bubble, outside of normal reality, but hidden in its midst.

The next sense she recovered was smell. Her eyes started to water as the scent hit her nostrils. It was incredible. She breathed in deeply, pulling the aroma into her lungs. It was fresh and clean, sweet and tangy, invigorating and calming. Her mind started to swim, and she briefly wondered if the sensation was the cause of her dislocation from reality. As her mind drifted, she continued to lethargically look around. She was doing a full sweep of the area, and when her gaze moved past her feet to the direct opposite side of the clearing, she saw him.

He was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

Her heart clenched, and for several moments she couldn't breathe.

Any description she'd heard or read of gods, angels or spirits could not compare to this man.

Maybe it was whatever she was inhaling or the water she'd been in earlier, or maybe she really had died and gone to heaven, but he was glowing. Not any kind of cinematic glowing, with great beams of light shining down while angels sang. No, it was like the edges of his being were soft, blurred, hovering between this world and another. Even from this distance she could tell he was tall, well over six feet. He was naked, as was she, but his face was so beautiful she couldn't tear her eyes away to see anything else. His skin was smooth, unwrinkled, and tanned just enough to make anyone jealous. His cheekbones were strong without being harsh, and his mouth was round and perfect. Soft, full lips rested in a light smile. His nose was sturdy and straight, while his eyebrows and hair were the deepest, richest brown she had ever seen. Not too short, but not too long, she itched to run her fingers through it, sure that it would be thick, yet softer than the finest silk. She let her gaze travel down, skipping past his face and down his neck, his collarbones and shoulders. His arms were beautifully formed, and his bare, smooth chest looked like it was painted, it was so flawless. His waist was trim, but solid, with dimples above his hipbones that spoke of incredible fitness. She had to take a moment to steel herself before letting her gaze travel lower.

_Oh god._

Her pulse skipped a few beats before quickening.

He was perfect.

Long, thick and strong, she was sure his skin was as soft as velvet. A rush of arousal surged through her, and she suddenly craved, no, _needed_ him inside of her, stretching her legs apart and proving to her that she was, indeed, alive again.

But she didn't move.

She tore her gaze away and continued her perusal. She took in his strong thighs, his knees, his calves, god, even his ankles. His _toes_ were perfect. He was like an artist's rendering of what the human race could evolve into, bred into its highest form, carved from marble then brought to life. She didn't know where to look, barely able to comprehend the desire she held for this man. Her eyes drifted back to his face, resting on his brown eyes, layered with green and gold. The world was brightly lit around him, but his eyes were like beacons in the darkness, shining with the knowledge of a million truths she could never know. For a moment Magnus thought of the, "light at the end of the tunnel" that people described near death. Were his eyes that light, beckoning her to follow him? Or were they her salvation, leading her back to life? She decided at that moment that she would give him the benefit of the doubt and let him lead her wherever he pleased.

After what seemed like minutes, or hours, she didn't know which, he started walking towards her. More like gliding, really – she couldn't see if his feet were actually touching the ground. The languid elegance of his movement made her seriously doubt he was moving his legs at all. He came to a stop mere inches away from where she was laying, and she realized she'd been holding her breath as he moved. She let it out slowly, trying not to stir in case it startled him and made him flee. With feline grace, he climbed onto the rock and rested on his knees beside her, sitting in a stance that reminded her of eastern meditative poses.

Once she regained her control, Magnus allowed herself to look up into his perfect face. She was instantly hypnotized by the brown of his eyes, which at close range were still bright, but so much deeper than she'd first imagined. They radiated wisdom and experience, as if he'd seen the greatest joy in the world but also the greatest suffering. Magnus knew that people often thought of her own gaze as something "different", but if her longevity had changed her outlook, she could only imagine how old this being was to look the way he did. As she continued to stare at him, a light flickered on within his eyes, and they shifted to the top of her head. She wondered what he was doing, staring at her hair, but then his eyes moved. He was slowly, so very slowly, examining her, from head to toe.

Heat flared within her under the power of his gaze. She resisted the urge to suck in her stomach, to breathe in and push her chest out. She knew he would see past such posturing, but she worried that such a perfect creature would look at her and scoff, lose interest, and leave her there alone. She once again had to resist an urge, this time to laugh at herself. She hadn't been subject to such girlish insecurities in 100 years. She'd had lovers in the past, confident, strong people that had suddenly developed ridiculous doubts as soon as they entered the bedroom. She understood now how they had felt when faced with such a unique, experienced partner - out of their league. She desperately wanted him, but how could she possibly satisfy this man, this greater-being?

His gaze continued to trail down her body, and she felt as if she were being x-rayed. He wasn't just looking at her, but into her, seeing everything that her body had endured, how it had changed her if not on the outside, then on the inside. After an age, his gaze returned to hers, and it was sad. Her heart broke at his expression, silent tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. No creature so beautiful should know such sadness. He leaned in towards her, and gently waved his hands over her face. Her tears dried.

She was confused, sad, as she looked up at him, not knowing how to heal his hurt.

He leaned in towards her until his face was barely inches above her, and her vision swam with his perfection. She felt her eyes closing suddenly, and song filled her ears. She didn't know what language he spoke, or if it was even words, but she understood, felt, what he was saying.

He told her of the plight of his people. When they were first discovered by man, they were seen as gods and worshiped. They encouraged goodness in their followers, and once, when a man committed an act of pure selflessness, pure good, they had made him one of their own. Others, hearing of this ascension, started to follow in the man's footsteps. "Heroes" sprang up everywhere, but the Fey could not accept them all. People soon became bitter, blinded by their desire to become more than they were. They created opportunities to commit heroism by instigating war, hoping their acts would gain them the power and beauty of the Fey. The magical beings had been forced into hiding, seeing that their presence now inspired men to turn against their brothers.

For thousands of years they stayed hidden, but their numbers eventually dwindled. Magnus sensed that they couldn't die, but like human to Fey, a faerie could become something greater. She didn't understand how that was possible, but knew it was true. She felt how the faerie people had become lonely, as their numbers became so few. They decided to give mankind another chance and ventured out, carefully, staying out of sight while they searched for people with clean souls and true spirits. They would show these chosen few their world, and let them decide if they wanted to join them. No one had ever refused.

A few weeks ago they had sensed evil spirits within their territory. They had prepared to flee, when they realized there was one within the group who was pure: a young boy, Mauno, who had been taken from his home and forced to join the evil ones. The soldiers had taken him as a protégé of sorts, finding it a challenge, a great game, to try and beat him into submission, force him into a life of cruelty. Mauno had refused and been badly damaged for it. The Fey had admired his tenacity, his stalwart convictions, and decided to save him.

They led him into their midst and started the process of conversion. Every ounce of their focus was needed to complete the transformation. So focused where they that no one realized two of the men from the camp had followed the young boy thinking he was trying to run away, determined to punish him. They stumbled into the middle of the conversion, as Mauno's physical form was finally changing, and thought he had been captured by demons. With great war cries they had pulled out their weapons and started firing. The Fey, unharmed by the ammunition, were still startled, and the process was interrupted. Not wanting to hurt the men, but needing to keep their secret, they had decided, with great regret, to flee. The boy was left in a half-state, not human, not fey, an abomination. The men carried what was left of Mauno back to the camp just before Magnus was captured. The faeries tried to lure her to them before the guerillas found her, but in sleep her mind had been like a safe, locked down and guarded, and they had failed.

They watched as the guerillas took her, questioned her, beat her, but it was a rule of their people to not directly interfere in the dealings of humans. When they'd gone into seclusion the Elders had imposed a bind on the faerie's powers so that the simply would not work if someone tried to meddle in human affairs. It was a punishment of sorts, watching, but not being able to help. They had picked up Mauno when he'd been in the woods alone, but Magnus was being watched like a hawk. They had been sickened with remorse that Magnus had been blamed for their actions and forced to bear the brunt of the wild man's rage. They felt her strength, her unfailing defense of them, even though she had no way to be certain of their existence. It was something they'd never encountered before. She was the first person to not want to find them for reasons of power, beauty, or immortality. She had simply wanted to find them, talk to them, understand them and if possible, help them. They had never had such a defender; a human willing to save them, for once.

They had been helpless to intervene during the violence wreaked upon her, but as soon as the men had left her dead, they were there. Never before had they brought someone back from the netherworld, but with all of their great might they had tried.

Once again, Magnus was confused by the thoughts and feelings he was channeling into her. He tried to explain the process of her revival, but even her source-blood enhanced mind couldn't comprehend their power. As he neared the end of his story, she realized her healing was now complete. A bubble of panic welled up. She didn't want to leave them, not so soon, she still had so much to learn about them. Peace washed through her mind, and she was calm. They were not going to send her on her way just yet.

Her eyes were suddenly open, and she was staring up into those chocolate brown eyes.

_Do you want to stay with us?_ he asked.

_Yes!_ her mind screamed.

Her head swam with possibility, the vision of a future with these people, as one of them. She could leave behind all the challenges, hardship, and suffering of her lonely existence. No more Sanctuary politics, no more failed missions, people dying in her infirmary, lovers being torn to shreds… Her heart yearned for escape.

But then she was transported to a memory, over a hundred years ago, of a younger, eager version of herself. She could see her father opening the door to a new world as she held her torch high, curious and unafraid. How excited she had been! How eager to prove her worth as a woman and a scientist. She remembered the overwhelming need to learn everything she could about this incredible new world. She'd wanted to help these unfortunate people, these animals, these abnormals, like she'd never wanted anything else in her life. How many thousands still roamed the earth, undiscovered? How many thousands were living in fear, persecution and pain? Twenty years ago Magnus would have said her network could have continued on without her, strong and determined. With her lack of focus the last several years, however, she feared it might not. It was crumbling as surely as was her resolve as of late, and if she left now, abandoned what friends and colleagues she still had … How many abnormals would suffer for it? How many would remain in perpetual fear?

Yes, she was being offered the chance to enter a world more intense and magical than she'd ever thought possible, but could she share her new knowledge and abilities with her network? No. She would have to adopt the Fey's lifestyle as well, the secrecy and solitude.

She couldn't do that to her patients or her coworkers. She sometimes hated the responsibilities she held, but she had brought it upon herself when she took over her father's Sanctuary. She had been ready to die, in Santos' clearing, but with imminent death no longer an issue, she realized she wanted this second chance. She couldn't give up; her father would turn in his grave, or rise from the dead to hunt her down and berate her for being so selfish. She was a Magnus, she didn't run away.

A tear fell silently down her cheek, but the faerie smiled at her.

_I thought you would say no, _he admitted, _but I had to try._

Magnus opened her mouth to try to explain her decision, but he silenced her.

_This will not be goodbye_, he promised. _We would not let such a person as you leave us for good._

She frowned, questioning.

_Will you at least let us try and thank you?_ he inquired.

She blushed. She didn't feel herself worthy of gratitude. In the end, she'd been selfish in her wishes for death, had she not?

_Helen_, he breathed, and her heart melted. She would like to be called Helen again. Not Magnus, or Doctor, or Ma'am…

_We have seen into your mind, your soul. We know your dark thoughts, and your struggles with them. We have seen how you prevail and remain good, though circumstances continue to try and thwart you. Believe me when I tell you that you are special. We are sad we cannot call you one of our own._

For a moment, Helen wondered if she should take back her denial and accept his offer.

_No_, he stated firmly. _It is not who you are._

Her thoughts went silent.

_May we thank you?_ he repeated.

_How?_ she thought.

_Even if you cannot be one of us, we may remain connected, if that is what you wish._

_What do you mean?_

_We desire to share ourselves with you so that when you need us, we will know. Your work is important to your world. We can help you achieve your goals. We can… enhance you, if you please._

Helen felt reassurance sweep through her mind.

_Do you trust me?_ he asked.

Helen let out an incredulous huff. For the first time, she saw him smile, and she swore she could die, again, a happy woman.

_Thank you_, he said. _You will not regret it_

To Be Continued

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><p>Sooooooooo! Thoughts, questions, queries, concerns, dislikes, likes…? I hope everyone understood the reasoning behind the faerie's inability to intervene, etc! As a warning: The smut starts next chapter. Ahem. MS<p> 


	7. Gifts

**A/N:** I'm back! I'm so very, very sorry for the delay. As I said, I went to DragonCon in Atlanta, and then had another week of vacation with my dearest friend and beta, NoCleverSig. Then I got home, and found that the other Sanctuary fic site I post on had moved serves, and deleted not only this ENTIRE story and all its subsequent reviews/comments, but a few of my other more recent ones as well, which put me off fic for a few days. Buuuut now my mojo is back, and to make up for it, I'll be posting new chapters of this at LEAST twice a week from now on! More than that if you leave nice reviews ;) :D

As warned, the smut begins in this chapter. If that's not your cuppa tea, please let me know and I'll message you an overview of the plot that also happens throughout! Because yes, my smut has meaning ;) On with the show!

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><p><strong>Previously, on Faerie Tale:<strong>

_We desire to share ourselves with you so that when you need us, we will know. Your work is important to your world. We can help you achieve your goals. We can… enhance you, if you please._

Helen felt reassurance sweep through her mind.

_Do you trust me?_ he asked.

Helen let out an incredulous huff. For the first time, she saw him smile, and she swore she could die, again, a happy woman.

_Thank you_, he said. _You will not regret it_

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><p>Helen took a deep breath, waiting for the gift he was about to give her, but he didn't move. She waited silently, starting to feel awkward, when she realized he was doing something. He was looking at her again. The feeling of being x-rayed was back, but she sensed that this time he was scanning her for a different reason. He was no longer looking into her soul, he was looking at her body, her inner workings, how the blood flowed and the nerves reacted. All her insecurities rushed back, and she knew that this was a turning point. He would either approve of her and continue, or decide she wasn't worthy, and let her go.<p>

Just as she was about to open her mouth and beg that he either touch her, or get rid of her, he reached out his hand. It was a gentle touch of a finger running down her arm, but she still gasped. His touch burned. For half a second she was afraid, remembering the young, mutilated boy in the compound, but she quickly relaxed. This burning felt _good_. Like the wet, healing touch from the pool, his fire spread throughout her body, making it come alive. The lethargy that encompassed her vanished, and adrenaline surged through her veins. Within moments she was shaking with desire, sweat starting to form without having even moved. She'd never felt the need to feel someone as strongly as she did now, but she stayed still. There was no way she would do _anything_ to possibly jeopardize this moment. She couldn't dare think of what would happen next, what she hoped would happen. If she did, her mind just might explode.

He removed his finger when he reached her wrist, and she almost sobbed at the loss of contact. A second later he touched her other arm, and she could breathe again as he drew his finger down her once more. When finished, he moved a hand to each of her upper thighs, and she felt as if her body should be flying off the rock with sensation. He seemed to be exerting some kind of force on her, keeping her stationary, holding her down with no use of physical strength. She should have been frightened at the complete lack of control, but she only craved more. She knew he wouldn't hurt her. She would accept whatever he did to her and be grateful for it.

His hands moved down her legs, and for the first time she really thought about how long her legs were, how tall she was. She'd been inches taller than any other woman she knew in her young life, and it had always been a subject of sensitivity for her. Eventually she had grown to love this aspect of her physical self. She was already so different from the rest, it seemed only fitting to be physically unique as well. Right now she was more than grateful for her long legs; it meant there was more of her for him to touch. By the time he trailed his fingers over her toes, she worried that she had melted into the rock she lay upon. The wetness between her thighs should have been uncomfortable, but it wasn't.

With his initial survey done, Helen wondered what he would do next. Her wonder and anxiety must have shown, because he smiled, indulgent and knowing, and gently lifted her hand to his mouth. He kissed the back of her hand softly, and she wished that a normal man could be like him. How could she possibly go back to mere human companionship after an experience like this?

While she was musing, he shifted, stretching his legs out on the rocks so that he lay on his side. He laid her hand back by her side, and before she realized what was happening cradled her head in his right hand, tilting her head to the side while his left grasped her shoulder. His lips were on her skin, with another soft kiss just above her collarbone. His mouth parted, and his tongue reached out to trace a line up her neck. She made a soft sound, and this time her body did shake as a gush of heat rushed out of her.

His tongue, like his touch, was liquid fire. She almost opened her eyes to see if her skin was indeed burning but didn't bother. She knew if she did, they'd only roll back into her head, delirious with sensation. If it were possible for her to get any wetter, she'd swear she were back in the pool. His tongue and lips slowly made their way over her neck and chin, and her own lips tingled in anticipation. She held her breath, waiting to see how he tasted, but frowned when the touch never came. Finally she opened her eyes and saw him smile down at her as he moved his mouth away from hers, pressing it to her cheek, forehead and eyelids. She sighed. Alright then, she could be patient.

His lips found their way, seeming to meander, to the spot right below her ear. His kiss sent shivers down her body. She knew that had been his destination the entire time. He'd literally seen right into her, and knew every single one of her erogenous zones. She hoped that by the time this was over, he'd hit them all.

As his lips continued their slow dance, and his thumbs ran gently back and forth over her hips, time melted away. Her initial waves of desire mellowed into a gentle thrumming that kept her aware but undistracted. She was content as she was, relishing in his soft, careful touches. How long had it been since someone had paid this much attention to her? Looked at her as a woman instead of as a boss, scientist, or monster hunter? Helen had always been confident in herself but had become lost in others' beliefs that she could only be defined by her work. The way this man's hand fit into the curve of her waist, the way his fingertips smoothed over her stomach, hip, and thigh, reminded her that she was more than all of that. His fingertips eventually gave way to lips and then his tongue. As much as she treasured her hard-won status as an intellectual, she'd always suppressed her baser, human needs. Right now she didn't have to smother her desires or try and hide what she was thinking. She could be freer, mentally and physically, than she had ever been. This was certainly the best gift she'd ever received.

She lay still, pliant and loose beneath his ministrations, for what seemed like an hour, maybe more. She had had patient, attentive lovers before, but this was something else. The breeze in the trees helped keep her calm, and no matter how light the press of his lips were, they made her sigh. Once every inch of her skin had been cared to, she found herself with her eyes open again, staring into his. He was smiling his soft, knowing smile and she grinned lazily in return. He was still glowing, still hazy. If this was a dream, she never wanted it to end.

He leaned in, so close, she had to work not to cross her eyes to keep him in focus, and she felt her heart start to wake again, preparing for his taste. Instead, his lips brushed her nose in a very humanlike gesture of endearing sincerity. He felt her frustration at his refusal to kiss her, and she sensed his laughter. She would normally smack him for his cheekiness, but was too happy that she'd made him laugh. She found herself laughing along with him, and when his face moved out of her vision, she stared up into the hazy sky, transfixed by the dust motes that floated around them, sparkling in the sunlight.

She could sense his path of travel down her body, heat exuding from him like an aura, and when he passed her chest, her breasts ached for his touch, heavy and wanting. They were a favourite of many a past lover, but she worried that he didn't like them.

Then his tongue was running across the seam between her legs and the dust motes in the air exploded into stars. The fire from his tongue shot straight into her womb, causing it to clench and twist, fresh arousal bursting from within, and she groaned as he pressed hard against her clit. He kept his tongue against her, feeling her small bundle of nerves pulse in response to his heat, blood rushing to it as pleasure built. She didn't know how, but his stationary tongue was sending her higher and higher, about to explode. He suddenly pulled away. Her body sunk further into the mossy rock as she caught her breath.

His hands pushed her legs wider apart, and his mouth latched onto the curve where her right thigh met her torso, nibbling slightly at the sensitive skin then soothing it with silken lips. He moved down her inner thigh, biting just hard enough to keep her on edge. He ignored the glistening in between as he moved to her left side, doing the same. Helen looked down the length of her body, finally taking the time to satisfy her curiosity and see if her skin was red, raw, or inflamed from his fire. She gasped when she saw the truth.

Instead of burns or swollen irritation, her skin, where touched by him, glowed as he did. A soft luminescence shimmered on her skin, and she wondered if it was the trailing wetness of his mouth or if it was actually her. He had said he was going to give her a "gift", a connection to his people, and she realized now that this whole exchange was about more than just physical pleasure.

His tongue returned to her slick folds, and she decided the pleasure was quite enough for the moment.

He explored every crevasse of her sex, kissing every inch, sucking every fold, lapping up at the wetness that continued to flow from her, closing his eyes as he swallowed her essence. He ignored her throbbing clit, but his hands were kneading the muscles of her thighs and she was distracted enough to not quite notice.

His tongue started tracing the circle of her opening, and she discovered the moss cushioning her was long enough to grab onto as she held herself down. He pushed the tip of his tongue into her, the heat of his tongue finally joining the burning of her center, but he immediately pulled back. More time was spent exploring her folds. Then he pushed back in, just a little farther, before pulling out. He repeated this pattern, going a few millimeters deeper every time, until she felt him finally press his full mouth against her, pushing his tongue in as deep as it could go.

And then it went deeper.

Helen's eyes flew open, looking down at the top of his head, staring into the deep brown locks as if trying to see through them, to his mouth, inside of her. She knew, logically, that it should be impossible, but with her experience in the field of the wonderful and strange, she accepted it and moved straight into analysis. His tongue, buried inside of her, was growing, travelling ever deeper. It reached places that extremely well endowed men and expensive toys had never even neared. He pulled it out of her then thrust inside in one swift move, all the way, and she moaned, unafraid of judgment for being loud. He started up a rhythm, hands never at rest on her legs and when she couldn't stand it any longer she reached down and sunk her hands into his hair, finding it softer and thicker than she'd imagined.

He grasped her calves and pushed, encouraging her to bend her knees and plant her feet on the rock, opening her up to him even further. She was soon thrusting against him in time with his plunging tongue, his heat radiating through her core to spread throughout her entire body.

So distracted by the surreal encounter, Helen didn't notice when another man appeared at the edge of the clearing where the brown-haired eay had initially stood. The newcomer stood perfectly still, taking in the splendor of the sight in front of him.

He grinned.

Helen remained blissfully unaware that she was being watched as the man on the fringe of the clearing started towards them.

He was just as tall as the brown-haired man currently at work, and his naked body was just as chiseled. His hair, however, shone more golden than the sun, and eyes that were bluer and more vivid than the sky took in every detail of Helen's body, reaching into her mind to see what was happening there. He had been following the events through the mind of the brunette since the beginning, and had not been able to withhold his curiosity. After several moments of watching from afar, he could no longer tolerate remaining a bystander.

He was so silent in his approach that Helen had no idea he was there, climbing the rock, resting beside her, until two new hands suddenly grasped her face. She gasped, and her eyes flew open as he gently cupped her, leaning down and laying a reverent kiss to each cheek before pulling back and letting her see him.

Helen knew her eyes must be dull and lifeless compared to his, her face sunken and pale, but he looked down at her with such unbridled appreciation and adoration that she almost cried. The brown-haired Fey's acceptance of her was more than she could have hoped for. Confronted with this second man's attention, she felt overwhelmed. She didn't know what the newcomer expected her to do while his fellow faerie continued to lick and suck and pull, and her hands floundered by her sides in indecision.

The blonde took pity on her, picking up her hands in his, his long fingers making hers look small. She realized she was shivering from his touch as he placed her hands on his chest and leaned in, laying a kiss on her breastbone. His mouth moved quickly to the side, rising with the swell of her breast, opening up and sucking her nipple into his mouth. Her hands clenched where he'd placed them, and her fingernails dug in as she felt like she'd been suddenly doused in ice.

As fiery as the brunette's touch was, this blue-eyed angel was equally cold. Helen expected steam to hiss against her hot skin as his tongue swirled around her breast. Her nipple hardened the instant his mouth hit her, and he wasted no time latching onto it, coaxing it out further, running it between his teeth, and gently biting down. Helen thought she would come right there, the distinct heat and cold assaulting her senses, but the man between her legs, with his knowledge of both what she was feeling and what the new man was doing to her, adjusted his pace and pressure so that climax stayed just beyond her reach.

Helen, remembering her surprise at the blonde Fey's touch, worried that her fingernails had dug into him and hurt him. She was surprised to find that when she tried to dig them out, they were merely resting on the surface of his skin. She experimentally flexed, pressing her nails against him, but though his skin was softer than silk, she couldn't penetrate it. She gave up as the wonder of his body overcame her, and she started to map his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath. She ran her hands up and over his shoulders feeling the play of muscles in his upper back as he moved an arm underneath her, elevating her, holding her against his as he feasted on her chest. Her hands soon left his back to bury themselves in his hair, longer than the brown faerie's. It was the kind of perfect, careless shaggy that so many men tried to emulate but that could only be achieved naturally. She gripped his head tightly and pushed him harder against her, his mouth opening and accepting as much of her full breast as he could.

He pulled his mouth off her, moving to the other, leaving trails of invisible frost in his wake. When she thought her nipples couldn't take any more torment, he left them. He looked down at her and saw the soft cappuccino freckles that spotted her chest and shoulders. He leaned in and started to kiss them. A moment later, the tongue inside of her pulled out, and the mouth it belonged to started finding spots on her legs. Not just her natural freckles, but the imperfections, the scars of over 100 years of fights, scrapes and brawls. The two beings found every mark on her that made her unique, and acknowledged them as beautiful.

Helen was shaking, emotion so intense racking her body while the contrast of their temperatures continued to play with her mind. Her left hand stayed with the blonde, running over his chest, shoulders and back, while her right lay by her side, brushing the hand of the brunette's whenever it passed along her upper leg. She kept her eyes open, deciding the sight of them could not be taken for granted, and wanting to burn every detail of them into her memory.

When every spot of the front of her body had been marked, the two men, with perfect synchrony, stopped. Helen watched the first man as he moved his head back to her sex, but then blue eyes invaded her vision. She gazed up at him, searching his gaze for any hint of what they would do next. His eyes betrayed nothing, but he cupped her cheeks and slowly lowered his face to hers.

Her lips parted, breathing in deeply before his mouth covered hers, and two tongues thrust into her at the exact same time, a double assault on her mouth and in her core. Her back arched and she moaned into the blonde Fey's mouth, hands flying to grasp his shoulders as the fiery brunette's tongue shot up into her core once more. She fell back down to the rock as her mind was flooded with a taste she couldn't name, sweet and strong, citrusy and fresh. She wrapped her tongue around the blue-eyed angel, needing more, grabbing it with her teeth and pulling him in. He mapped out her mouth as she did his, while the tongue between her thighs rubbed against every surface of her inner walls. Then it pushed deeper, hitting spots she didn't know existed. Helen didn't know how she hadn't come already, thinking they surely must be using some magic on her to hold her back.

She tried to coax them into a rhythm, thrusting at the same time so her brain could make sense of what was happening but they refused. They moved at different times, different speeds, using different amounts of force. The blonde man's hands moved from her face to her neck, then down her shoulders, arriving at her chest, taking the weight of her breasts into his grasp. He rolled and kneaded them, rubbing his icicle fingers over her areola, the tips of her nipples still peaked from his earlier attentions. When he took them between his fingers and pinched, a wet mouth moved to her clit and bit down. She cried out, grasping onto the strong shoulders of the man kissing her, using him to ground her as she felt the spidery tendrils of approaching orgasm start washing down her spine. She needed to breathe, lightheaded from the power of their kiss, but she needed his taste even more.

A hot tongue was somehow both inside her and rubbing against her clit at the same time, while hands squeezed her calves, her thighs, her breasts. The taste, sound, and smell of them sent her higher and higher until finally she crested, body arching towards the sky as pleasure burst through her, flooding her senses and blinding her to her surroundings. She bit down on the tongue inside her mouth to stifle her cries, and he held on to her, keeping her connection with reality as her mind tried to break free of it. The movements below her waist slowed to a crawl, becoming soothing instead of arousing, comforting instead of teasing.

She felt her body start to relax, and she reluctantly pulled her mouth away, gasping for breath. Her eyes opened and she searched the Fey's face with wild eyes, needing to know if what had just happened was real. He smiled warmly at her, taking a hand and brushing sweaty bangs from her forehead, tucking it behind her ear. Her mouth worked open and closed, finally filling with air but not knowing what to say. She needed to thank them somehow, express her awe at their incredible skill, but didn't know any words, in any language, that could describe her feeling of contentment. Every muscle in her body lay lax against the moss, gelatinous after such a long time of being held on the brink, tense and waiting.

The being who she had communicated with originally, with his chocolaty auburn gaze, appeared before her, stroking the back of his fingers down her face, smiling. The blonde sat back, letting the man reclaim his lead. How these two men could keep smiling at her when she'd felt the depth of their people's suffering she didn't know, but she couldn't resist them, and smiled weakly back. He leaned down and kissed her gently, pressing his lips against hers for just a moment. It was Helen who deepened it, opening up and inviting him in, wanting to taste herself on him. He tasted like spices, cinnamon and cloves, chocolate, spicy and rich.

With every new kiss she could feel his warm breath travel down her throat into her chest, breathing new life. She could feel her lungs, her veins, absorbing his sweet taste. It mingled with the traces of source blood, swirling around, fusing together before suddenly bursting like countless mini fireworks inside her body. Energy coursed through her, and her muscles tingled with the sheer sense of being _alive_.

He pulled away all too soon, and her lips sought to bring him back, her head lifting off the rock to follow him, but he gently pushed her down. She heard his voice fill her head again, and she swore she could hear him smiling.

_Don't worry, we're just getting started._

To Be Continued…

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><p>I actually wasn't happy with this smut. Don't know why, it just never seemed that I accurately communicated the fantasydream like quality I wanted to get. What do you guys think? More smut in the next chap :D MS


	8. Transformation

**A/N:** As promised, I'm updating quicker ;) It works better for the "flow" of the smut anyways ;) Or do you all like to be kept hanging! Muahaha.

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><p>Helen's body shivered, his words sending a whole new wave of arousal through her. It had been too long since she'd had physical relations with any one partner, but it had been even longer since she'd had two. She sat up, resting her hands in the moss beside her as she quickly raked her gaze up and down the man in front of her. She then glanced to her left, and did the same for the blonde. She grinned at their state of mutual arousal. She still felt completely out of their league, but steeled her courage. With seemingly confident hands, she reached out to grasp both of their erections. Her hands were instantly batted away.<p>

"What's wrong?" she asked out loud, still not used to the idea of talking telepathically.

_This isn't about us_, the blue eyed faerie replied. She looked at him.

"But…" she started to protest, only to be interrupted.

_Our gift to you,_ he reiterated.

Helen was frustrated. Did they not realize the satisfaction she would gain from giving them pleasure? To be able to feel, taste the velvet skin that encased a power she had yet to learn?

_The process within you has been started,_ he told her. _We must fulfill the rituals now, or it will not work. There is no time for interruption._

She was about to comment that they'd been taking their sweet time already, so what could be the harm in a few minutes attending to their needs, but they stopped her. Apologies resounded through her head, and they tried to explain the process they'd started. They didn't use any terminology she understood, but she understood. They couldn't stop now. With a resigned sigh, she laid her hands back down in the moss, waiting for them to tell her what she _could_ do.

_Just enjoy._

As their hands reached out to start touching her again, Helen quickly forgot her disappointment. She let herself be laid back down as their fingers began to massage her, channeling their magic. With every stroke of their strong hands, the relentless exhaustion that hummed at the back of her consciousness, the ever-present ache in her joints that seeped down into her bones, floated away. Her muscles melted, and she felt herself drifting in a void somewhere between reality and dreams. As they worked, they sang, soft words that washed through her, and she knew these were the spells that Santos and his men had so feared. If only the cruel soldiers could realize that such "magic" could be used for good as well as evil.

The Fey turned Helen onto her stomach, and she groaned when they started on her back. The tension and strain of her career had coiled her shoulders into concrete, incurable with baths, stretching, or massages at the hands of mortals. They left nothing untouched, soothing even her fingers and toes. She wondered if she would be able to ever pick up a pen again for the relaxation she felt. When they reached her lower back, she started to wake up, remembering the special tension that had been buzzing through her since she'd first laid eyes on a faerie.

She felt one of them stretch his legs to straddle hers, leaning forward until cool breath hit the back of her neck. A hand kneading her ass slipped down and to the center, sliding easily into her slick folds and her muscles clenched at the sudden cold. He played with her for several minutes, and two fingers made their way inside. She felt a hand on her cheek, guiding her to lift her head. She saw a prodigious penis resting between bent knees before he lifted her face high enough that she couldn't see it anymore. She rested on her elbows as he bent down to kiss her.

Hands pushed at her knees, coaxing them upwards towards her waist, opening her up more to exploring fingers. The brunette decided to help his comrade, hooking his arms under Helen's and pulling her up, his mouth never leaving her lips. She slipped from between the straddling blonde's legs, rising up onto her knees before settling down, stretching her legs as far to the side as they could go, supported by the arms now wrapped around her. Her breasts rubbed against his marble skin as the man behind her sat up, repositioning himself while having managed to keep his hand inside her the whole time. He pushed another finger inside her, gently pressing against her opening, stretching her.

The three stayed like that, one pressed against her front, mouths dueling, while the other worked between her legs, a hand on her side to keep her steady, until she started rocking against his fingers. He pulled his three digits out as his partner let go of her tongue between his teeth. Helen, so suddenly bereft of any contact, decided that while up to this point their amazing, telepathic teamwork had been wonderful, it could also be damn frustrating. She closed her eyes, and sent them her thoughts, the fact that she felt rather like a third wheel with no control over the proceedings, no idea of what would happen next. She was literally the inferior being, and she wasn't used to being so played, so taken advantage of, even if it was for her own gain. She felt their smugness in return.

_You love having control taken away from you, Helen, _they admonished._ In certain situations, you crave the role of submission._

She blushed, remembering they knew every dark and dirty secret she held.

They felt her acknowledgment of this truth, and she suddenly felt her limbs go weak. She slumped against the body in front of her, which gently turned her over, laying her down on her back again. He pulled her arms above her head, placing one wrist above the other, crossing. Helen frowned, tensing her biceps. She could almost move her elbows, but it was like her wrists were cemented together against the ground. Chills of excitement ran down her body. Just like being handcuffed, or tied, but without the pain that came with struggling against the bonds. She was a little disappointed at that.

A brown head descended onto her inner thigh and bit down. She yelped and jumped as he laughed.

_Better?_ he asked.

_Just keep it up,_ she replied.

He leaned in until his teeth closed over her clit. She yelped again, and this time the blonde joined him in laughter.

_Rather frisky, aren't you? _she thought.

_You've read all the tales of us. Faeries are supposedly very playful people._

_Devious, more like. _

_We won't deny that._

The conversation ended when her knees were pushed apart and he gave her a long, hard drag with his tongue. She hummed, flexing her arms against their invisible bonds, and this time she felt a tug of pain from them. Amazing. She wondered if she would ever learn the full extent of their powers.

Her eyes were drawn to the blonde Fey sitting patiently beside them, watching his 'brother' lapping her into a frenzy. She wondered why he wasn't participating this time. He looked into her eyes, blue meeting blue, and she realized he liked to watch.

Helen had been told before that she could make a living as an actress, if she ever decided she was finished with the Sanctuary. She certainly had more than enough experience pretending in front of people. She could stand up and speak to a room full of intellectuals, scientists, or investors, but had always harbored a little… not fear... wariness, about the stage itself. She admired actors for their ability to immerse themselves in the feelings, emotions, and problems of others. She'd always had more than enough to contend with living her own life. Right now, though, this rock was her stage, and the blonde didn't want to see anything but her, in her purest form, naked, emotionally and physically.

Helen felt her confidence grow, and she stretched her arms as much as she could, arching her back, pushing her chest into the air and moaning at the heat being injected into her pussy by a long wet tongue. Her breasts swayed as she breathed in heavily, tight pink nipples begging to be sucked. Blue eyes watched her show, transfixed. The faerie people hadn't discovered a human like this in generations. The blonde one suddenly felt the need to join them again, and experience this woman for himself.

As soon as this decision was made the brunette shifted, straddling her right leg as the blonde moved atop her left. He leaned down, obligingly pulling a nipple into his mouth, giving only a quick suck and a hard bite before moving to the other. Leaving her shiny with his saliva, the blonde slid down the length of her smooth leg until his face was even with her glistening mound. He watched for a few seconds as his friends tongue slid in and out of her before dipping down and taking over.

Helen's whole body jerked as they seamlessly switched place. It was almost like their two tongues, fire and ice, were inside her at the exact same time.

_Oh god,_ her mind whirled, _was that even possible? _

They stretched her legs as wide as they could go, heat from certain hands relaxing her so they could stretch even further, allowing their heads enough room to move.

Her arms started straining in earnest as her body writhed. Their tongues touched every ridge and dip within her, working in unison. There was cooling then heating, freezing then burning in a cacophony of heady pleasure. She pleaded with them to let her hands free, needing to touch herself, her breasts, squeeze her nipples to give that extra jolt she knew would send her across the divide. They refused, and she asked if she could just run her fingers through their hair again, push them closer against her, but still they refused. As a minor consolation, hands moved under her ass, pushing her up a few inches and holding her tighter against them.

She was shaking and sweating, and when she tried to move her hips against them, she suddenly couldn't. Her body was now completely immobile, completely at their mercy, and she cried out with frustration and ecstasy at every thrust of a tongue. The thick thread of heat pulled out of her, and the icicle inside expanded to make up for its loss. The hot tongue slid out of her pussy and up to her clit, laving and rubbing it. She felt as though her entire core was being consumed, sucked into them, their tongues melting her flesh and remolding it into something new and better. Her cries echoed through the clearing as one started nibbling on her clit, the other's hands roaming her legs and hips, pinching and squeezing.

With a final spectacular bite and twist, Helen came with icy blue fire shooting through her core and flames licking at her skin. Her eyes flew open, and the colours of the trees, the flowers, already so vivid, jumped out at her, a thousand times intensified. Her ears recognized her own screams. Suddenly she could hear the cries of distant birds, the pounding of paws as a jaguar chased its prey. She could hear the crashing of a waterfall in the distance, the slithering of snakes along a blanket of leaves and the crawling of things so small she couldn't even see them.

Helen, caught up in the incredible new awareness of the life around her, was brought crashing back to Earth when something hot, hard and thick suddenly thrust inside of her. She gasped, her flesh sensitive from the orgasm that hadn't yet finished. She forced her pleasure-soaked eyes to focus in front of her, seeing deep brown eyes. He stared at her, staying perfectly still. At first she thought his entrance would be too much, an overload of new sensation, but after a moment she realized his size was completely manageable. She tried desperately to hide her disappointment, but he of course sensed it. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but he smiled at her and suddenly she felt him growing. Her jaw dropped as he grew thicker, pushing at the walls of her opening, and longer, nudging against her cervix, impossibly hard. She was filled, stretched, pushed beyond anything she'd ever felt, and it was sensational. Through a haze of astonishment, she managed to form a coherent thought.

_And here I thought that faerie magic was used for protecting people. _

Both men laughed.

_We don't pretend to be a perfect species. We can, sometimes, be just as self-indulgent as others._

_Well thank God for that_! she proclaimed.

He answered by giving a quick, sharp thrust, forcing a keening sound from her throat which he answered with another thrust.

_Can I send any future lovers to you for a little gift of their own?_ she asked, making them laugh again.

_Unfortunately, this is one gift we can't give to humans. We can only change their physiology so much._

_Damn._

Thoughts of any lovers but these were pushed to the back of her mind as he set a rhythm. It was maddeningly slow, but so deep she didn't think she could go any faster. Her new awareness wasn't limited to sight and sound, it was enhanced for touch as well. She could feel every nerve in every patch of skin he brushed, radiating. He would pull out of her almost completely, hovering around her entrance before pushing back in, all the way, practically into her womb. His power sent vibrations throughout her body, waves of sweet pain slicing through her and breaking into her mind, setting it alight. She wondered if his heat was melting her, because her arousal was practically gushing out of her on every thrust. It coated her thighs, dripping down between her cheeks, wetting the moss below.

He reached down, grasping her hips, and with one strong tug he pulled her completely upright. With her seated fully in his lap he sunk in even further and the wind was knocked out of her. Her breath hit his face in pants and gasps as she tried to recover while he started a new rhythm. He lifted her up and down on top of him as easily as if she weighed nothing. She wrapped her arms underneath his, grasping his shoulders and holding on for dear life, afraid she would be thrown off of him as he pounded into her. Her chest crushed into his, breasts rubbing against smooth skin, and she threw her head back at the feel of it.

A pair of cold lips took immediate advantage of her bared neck, latching on and laying a wet, open-mouthed kiss. She shivered at the sudden cold, goosebumps popping out, nipples hardening. She'd completely forgotten about the other man present on the rock. The lips smiled against her skin, continuing to lick at the spot it had found as cool hands forced themselves between her chest and the faerie's, taking her heavy breasts in hand and working her stiff, aching nipples. She groaned, not wanting to pull away from the hot torso in front of her, but needing to press back against the cool one behind. The decision was taken from her as a hard chest pushed against her back, pressing her into the man in front. Confident she was secure between them, the brunette inside of her moved his hands from her hips, trailing down her legs, his touch maddeningly light. Helen felt every caress as if it were a normal man's hardest grip, but knew he was capable of so much more. She wanted all he could give her.

The cold hands around her breasts worked their way down her ribcage, her stomach, taking up the place on her hips. They helped move her up and down the brunette's rigid shaft a few times before moving down and back, kneading her ass. He moved in closer behind her, and a slight niggling of fear made itself known. Reassurance washed over her, but her stubborn doubt remained.

_It's been a while… _she admitted.

_You have nothing to fear, Helen. Trust us._

She worked to let go of her apprehension as a hand moved to her front, dipping into her folds and gathering her wetness in its fingers. He made sure to run the length of his hand over her clit as he pulled away. The juices that had dripped down her while she'd been laying down had already coated her second, smaller opening but the extra lubrication he smoothed over her helped to allay her fears. While she had done this before, it was a rare indulgence, and hadn't always gone well. The brunette slowed his actions to let her focus on the developing situation.

She felt a blunt head press against her from behind and took a deep breath, expelling it slowly. She willed her body to relax as he started pushing in. She suddenly remembered the special "power" they possessed, and almost laughed with relief. She barely felt his entrance, but as soon as he was inside he started to expand. Helen knew the process her body was undergoing was working because under normal circumstances her mind would have short circuited from all the new and incredible sensations. She could feel every drop of sweat rolling down her body as she was filled from two angles, more complete, whole, than she'd ever been.

With minds and bodies working in conjunction, the men started up a strong, steady rhythm. The time for teasing and build up was over, and the final phase of her transformation had begun. As one pulled out of her, the other thrust deeply in. She felt like a wave, flowing back and forth between them, tossing restlessly against their bodies. A hard chest would hit her back and she felt grounded. A second later she would be falling forward and her nipples would burn, rubbing against a hot, sweaty chest. Soon she wanted more, knowing they could give it to her, and they grew even more, forcing deep cries to bubble up from her chest and burst forth from her throat. Tantra had nothing on these men.

She reached backward, grabbing the neck of the blonde as her other arm wrapped around the waist in front of her. With all her strength she pulled them both towards her, slamming them into her so she was suddenly tightly sandwiched between them. She threw her head back onto the shoulder behind, eyes rolling back in her head as her open mouth fought to breath between gasps and pants. The Fey took the hint, and effortlessly changed their pattern, thrusting into her at the same time. A high-pitched moan escaped her, and they thrust again, and again. They knew her body, knew its strength, and didn't hold back. They pounded into her, sliding easily through her wet friction, the force of their coupling keeping her elevated off the rock. The clearing was filled with the slick sounds of sex and labored breathing, Helen feeling inordinately proud that the two men seemed to be breathing almost as hard as she.

Their bodies molded to each other, slipping, sliding, undulating in perfect unison as they used their actual voices, groans, and moans. She opened her eyes, half lidded, so she could witness the perfect face in front of her, raked in concentration. She squeezed her internal muscles and she felt both bodies surrounding her shake. The squeeze jump-started them, spurring them into action and in the next moment four large, strong hands were sweeping over her skin. They pinched and squeezed and tickled and rubbed, and Helen was crying out with every new touch, every powerful drive inside of her. He had said they wanted to give her a gift, a small part of them, and they certainly did not disappoint.

The hard bodies crushed her, squeezing, it was hard to breathe but it was so good. She wrapped both arms around the man in front of her, holding on for dear life, her nails digging into the faerie's back, raking down with strength that would tear a normal man's skin apart. She couldn't think, could only feel, and with the build-up of someone waiting for a bomb they knew would go off, she knew the end was near. Fire raged through her, ice shattered, every cell in her body went nova, and her vision exploded into white.

For a long time, she knew no more.

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><p>Is the smut over, you ask? Of course not. ;) Stay tuned!<p> 


	9. Completion

**A/N:** And as a finale to the smutfest that was the last few chapters…the longest chapter yet :D Warning: Femslash, and a smidge of bloodplay that just came out of nowhere. My beta advised me to cut a few parts out, as they were not really necessary, but… … I was too lazy. Thus if you think the smut gets over-blown or redundant, I apologize! Hope you continue to enjoy!

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><p>When Helen came to she was completely awake and aware. She was happy to find that she'd retained her heightened senses. Blood coursed strongly through her veins, and when she flexed, there was no soreness or pain. She felt like a machine working at beyond maximum performance. She sat up, tucking her legs underneath her and to the side, looking around as she realized she was no longer on the rock, or in the clearing at all. She was sitting on a narrow strip of grass, the jungle forest just a few feet from her. She could hear water flowing and turned around. She gasped.<p>

Before her lay a pristine pool. Its waters were perfectly clear and the most amazing blue-green colour. About 50 meters away was a waterfall, at least 20 feet high. It cascaded down from a plateau into the water, causing small waves to crash up, but quickly dissipate as they rippled outwards. The sounds it made were beautiful and soothing, perfectly unobtrusive. The shoreline was only a few feet deep, and its sand was sparkling white. Helen could feel every blade of grass on her naked skin as she realized there was someone in the pool. She sat still, entranced by the graceful figure in the water. The sunlight shone off the lithe body as the being swam with the ease and skill of someone born in the water. Helen wondered if there were any skills, physical, at least, that the faerie's had not mastered.

As the figure neared the shore, Helen became excited. She wished she had time to mentally catalogue her body to find out what exactly had been done to her, but that could happen later. Maybe she could even just ask this faerie. Was it one of the two she already knew?

As the figure rose from the water, and began walking towards her, Helen realized this was definitely not someone she already knew.

It was a woman.

Good god was it ever…

Helen couldn't help but stare at this example of feminine perfection. She was sure that if the creatures on Earth had a maker somewhere, than this was what they intended a woman to be. Helen couldn't tell from this distance, but was sure the woman was at least as tall if not taller than she was. Her long limbs were slim, but muscular. Her hips flared just enough to allow a gentle curve up towards her small waist. Her breasts were large without being overly so, seeming to defy the effects of gravity with their pertness. Even her shoulders were beautiful, leading to a slender neck and then another perfect face. Helen felt her old insecurities return in a rush, feeling suddenly old and careworn, looking upon the smooth, unlined face, high cheekbones and budding lips. The faerie's eyes were vividly green, and her long flowing hair, even wet and plastered to her back as it was, was a stunning dark blonde. Her skin was golden, the perfect tan, and her supernatural glow was enhanced by the sunlight sparkling off the water dripping down her body.

Helen's breathing sped up as the woman walked confidently forward. Helen waited for her to start speaking, but the woman fell gracefully to her knees as soon as she was beside her, stretching out to Helen's left. The Fey's arm reached out to gently cup Helen's right cheek, and she leaned in. Her mouth pressed against Helen's, and Helen gasped at the sweet taste of the faerie's full lips. The Fey wasted no time, using Helen's gasp to coax open her lips and push her tongue inside. Helen instantly accepted her, raising her left arm to touch the faerie's face, grasp onto her as she was pushed onto her back, the blonde woman stretching out beside and above her, resting on an elbow.

Helen remembered that it had been at least 15 years since she'd last made love with a woman, but in less than two seconds she recalled why she enjoyed it so much. It wasn't just the sweeter taste of their mouth, or the softer, smooth skin of their cheek and jaw, the fuller lips. There was a way their tongues met, explored, the give and take of power that spoke of an innate knowing. No man, no matter how experienced and intuitive, could know a woman's body like another woman did.

The Fey's tongue played hotly in and out of Helen's mouth as her hand moved down Helen's neck, stroking her skin. This being's touch was the perfect balance between her two brothers; not fire or ice, but lovely, gentle warmth. The hand travelled down, trailing over Helen's collarbones to brush against the side of her breast. The woman quickly took the mound in her long-fingered grasp, gently working the flesh. Helen's grip moved to the blonde hair, sinking in and pulling her closer. Helen briefly wondered if she had been misinformed earlier, and that whatever process the Fey had started was in fact not yet complete.

The woman above her pulled herself away from Helen's mouth with a wet pop and Helen frowned, opening her eyes to question the turquoise green above. The woman was smiling, pearly white teeth impeccably straight. She spoke using her actual voice, and it was like music.

"You're transformation is complete," she said. "From now on, it's just for pleasure."

Helen decided then and there that her duties at the Sanctuary could wait a while longer, and nodded eagerly. If these people just wanted to have sex all day, well… who was she to question their customs? The figure above her laughed and dove down to meet Helen's lips once again. Helen immediately reached up to grasp her arms, wrapping a leg around hers and flipping them so that she was on top, hands splayed on the grass on either side of the woman's head. The Fey looked up at her with a wryly amused smile. While Helen more than appreciated the men's selflessness in the giving of pleasure, she wanted to give some of her own. After her recent experiences she had decided that lack of confidence was ridiculous. They knew everything she was thinking and feeling, she might as well take control of herself and give all she had to give. It was high time she rediscover the wonders of the female form.

Helen brushed her hair to the side, draping it over her right shoulder as she leaned down, sucking a soft lip into her mouth, playing with it, nibbling on it for a while before pushing her tongue inside the woman's mouth slowly, but deeply. She took her time exploring the cavern of her mouth, confidently mapping out every bit of her cheeks, teeth and tongue. The woman's hands rose to Helen's sides, smoothing their way down her curves before wrapping around to play with the slight dimples at the small of her back. Helen sucked the faerie's tongue into her mouth, holding it there while the woman's hands slid their way up her bare back, pulling on her, forcing Helen down so that their chests met, torsos pulled flush together. Helen's breasts rubbed against the others, still wet from the pool, and her nipples grew tight. She pulled away from the Fey's warm lips, trailing wet kisses against her jaw and down her neck, tongue peeking out to taste the skin that was like warm lavender and mint and honey. Helen made her way down the woman's chest and wasted no time with teasing, running her tongue over a soft, rosy nipple. One of the Fey's hands snaked its way into Helen's hair, holding her to her as Helen sucked the nipple into her mouth, working it with her tongue, gently biting down then soothing with her lips. She left it wet and wanting, kissing her way over to the other breast and doing the same, taking as much into her mouth as she could.

When the tan skin was blushing pink and heaving, Helen moved on, trailing down her stomach, dipping her tongue into her navel, gathering the last of the water still clinging to her skin, and the beginnings of her sweat. She moved to the side, spending some time in the dips above her hipbones. She gently took hold of the Fey's legs and pushed herself down, not hearing the faerie's frustrated sigh as she skipped over her most sensitive area, coming to rest at her knees. Helen kissed above her knee and started working her way upwards; enjoying the slender, smooth thighs. She sucked on the juncture right between her legs and hips, worrying the skin between her teeth before biting down. The faerie moaned and her hips jerked, but when Helen pulled back she saw the skin was unbroken. She could be as hard as she wanted, secure in the knowledge that she couldn't hurt these people.

With lightning speed Helen moved, biting down on the woman's clitoris, making her cry out and arch her back. Helen quickly soothed her with her tongue, but only for a moment. She moved down, pushing her tongue between the woman's folds and licking along her entire length. Helen's mind was awash with the taste, smell and silky texture of the woman's arousal, but in the next moment she found herself flat on her back, the faerie looming over her. Helen's eyes narrowed, and she tensed, ready to flip them once more, but the woman's hands pushed down on her shoulder, and Helen found herself immobilized.

Helen's heart raced from both desire and anger. _No, not anger_, she thought. She wasn't upset with the Fey, she was enticed. It had been a long time since she'd had female lover, but even longer since she'd had one she could call an equal. This blonde goddess could challenge her in ways no one else could, and the thrill of battle, of wanting to be the alpha, stirred Helen's primitive instincts. She was used to being the woman in charge, and giving up that power, even to this obviously superior being, was difficult. To emphasize her control, the Fey moved her legs over Helen, pushing down so Helen's legs spread out, open, vulnerable, unable to move under the strength of the woman's limbs. Helen continued to struggle, trying to throw her off, not thinking she could actually succeed, just for the sake of trying. The blonde grinned down at her and Helen found herself grinning back through gritted teeth and knitted brow, a feral grin.

The faerie leaned down; mouth crashing into Helen's with force, and their mouths battled, teeth clashing and biting, tongues pushing hard. Helen bit down on the other woman's tongue and the Fey flinched minutely. Helen took her momentary distraction to free one of her legs, raising it up to press her knee between the woman's legs. The Fey groaned, grinding herself down against Helen's knee. The blonde reached out, grabbing Helen's breast and squeezing hard, moving her fingers to pinch and twist her nipple. Helen bit down on her tongue again, forcing her knee harder against her. Helen suddenly pushed her foot off the ground, driving her knee up and lifting the faerie right off the ground, throwing her to the side. Helen moved, pounced on top of her, grabbing her wet hair and wrenching her head to the side. She leaned down, biting her neck, running her tongue roughly over the mark she made, which faded in an instant. Helen wished she could mark these people, claim them, leave some kind of lasting impression so they would remember this time, which meant so much to Helen. Maybe then, someday, they would follow through on their promise to contact her again.

The green-eyed woman tried to reassure Helen they would, but Magnus was persistent in her stubborn disbelief. The Fey was astounded with Helen's ability to resist her thought suggestions. With a growl of frustration, the faerie rolled them over, ending up with her head near Helen's side. She stretched her neck out and bit into Helen's side, the brunette crying out as the Fey easily drew blood. She quickly lapped up her blood, excited to taste its richness, its exceptional individuality. The blonde moved to lick the wound, close it, but stopped. For the first time the Fey woman resented her impervious skin, wanting to give Helen the satisfaction of marking her. The 134 year old human would just have to make do with getting marked herself.

She could handle it.

The faerie explored Helen's body with barely constrained ferocity, biting, scratching, marking as she pleased, Helen's grunts and groans spurring her on. Men so often held back, afraid of hurting, but women could be ruthless, knowing full well how much stronger they were than men believed. The blonde made her way down to Helen's throbbing core, thrusting her tongue deeply into her, showing Helen she had the same power of growth as her male counterpoints. It was better than any strap on or toy Helen had used with other women. The Fey's tongue was strong, hot, wet… alive.

Helen's fingers pulled and tore at the blonde hair though none of it came out. She bucked her hips and the faerie's mouth was thrown off, jaw clacking and biting her own tongue. The Fey was usually in much better control, able to sense Helen's movements a second before she made them, but something about this immortal human muffled the faerie's senses. It was infuriating.

Helen laughed at her partner's annoyance, pushing herself up into a sitting position and lunging for her mouth, intoxicated by her taste and feel. Helen wrapped her arms under the other woman's shoulders, reaching up to her shoulder blades, clawing her nails down her back, digging into her seemingly soft curves. The blonde trailed her nails firmly down Helen's sensitive sides in response. Helen hissed against her lips at the pain, and the Fey dug deeper. With a cry, Helen pushed her off, looking down at her sides, five distinct trails of red running down, framing her. She glared at the faerie, putting her hands on her sides, gritting her teeth against the hurt as she brought her hands up her ribs, gathering. She placed her hands in front of her, palms upward, red with her blood.

Helen stared into the faerie's emerald eyes, shining with passionate fervor. Slowly, Helen brought her fingers up to her neck, turning them over and closing her eyes, tilting her head to the side, smearing her blood against her skin. Her hands skimmed down to her breasts, painting them red. The Fey's eyes were wild and Helen understood where the more frightening tales of faeries came from as she lunged forward, bowling Helen over as her tongue sought to clean the blood. Helen shivered, shifting her hand downwards between the Fey's legs and slipping her fingers into the slick folds. She pushed, encouraging the blonde to willingly roll to the side as Helen slid a finger inside of her. She only thrust a few times before the Fey's hand found her own apex and thrust two fingers into Helen. Helen's knees shook at the touch, and the Fey flipped her, driving her fingers inwards. Helen's nails scraped down the woman's chest, grabbing a breast and pulling her forward to take it into her mouth, grinding her teeth into the skin to stifle her cries.

Helen was suddenly, inexplicably angry. Genuinely, truly enraged. She was angry at Santos and his men for their ignorant, brutal treatment of her. Angry at the faeries for dangling the oasis of their lives in front of her, knowing she couldn't accept. Mad at her life, the impossible situations she was always put into, everyone around her expecting her to come up with a brilliant plan to save the day. She was angry at herself for her own bloody persistence in always being different, questioning, not accepting truths "just because" and for coming up with the stupid, goddamn source blood experiment to begin with. Helen wreaked the havoc of her mind onto the willing, limber body in front of her, on top of her, inside of her.

They continued in this fashion, rolling, throwing, biting and tearing until guttural screams were torn from their throats as they brought each other to final, vicious climax. They collapsed into a tangled mass of limbs, sweaty, dirty, bloody, and spent.

Helen's rage disappeared at the first instant of orgasm, and she felt almost liquefied, floating on a cloud of catharsis and release. She hadn't realized she'd kept such rage bottled up, and didn't know how to express her thanks to the faerie for so acceptingly, so lovingly, taking the brunt of it. Helen looked down at herself, covered in bite marks, blood, bits of dirt, grass, and sand they had ripped out in their mad, frantic coupling. She couldn't help but laugh. She didn't feel any of it. No pain, stinging, or burning. Just pleasure and completion. She turned her head, moving a hand to stroke tenderly through the now dry blonde hair of the woman laying against her side. The faerie smiled beautifully back at her, leaning in and kissing her softly, soothing Helen's swollen, red lips.

Helen stretched her arms above her head, ready to relax and let the Fey tend to her, but felt fingers thread through her own, and pull her upright. The blonde faerie led her into the water, and Helen sighed. It was cool without being cold, refreshing, invigorating and clean.

After the shallow sandbar leading to the shore, the water quickly deepened, and the Fey let go of Helen's hand, diving forward. Helen followed suit. The fresh water was a bit cooler against the cuts and scratches but didn't sting at all. She swam for a few seconds, the dirt and grit flowing right off of her. She surfaced, standing tall, the water coming up just to her hips, and breathed in deep, feeling suddenly cleaner than she had in years. She ran her hands through her long, dark hair, pushing the wet strands away from her face and looking around for the faerie. She was nowhere in sight, and Helen frowned.

She suddenly felt a pair of hands touch her lower back, sliding forward to hold onto her hips as a pair of warm lips kissed the nape of her neck. Helen sighed, head falling backwards to rest against the woman's shoulder, glad the faerie was taller than her. The Fey continued to lay soft kisses against her, tongue reaching out to trace any scratches she found, instantly healing them. Helen realized in a calm flash that this is where she'd been taken after she'd died. She had been given her second life here. The water, with its amazing properties, had supported her as this woman healed her, closed the gaping trenches in her back, fixed the shattered knee, filled the hole in the back of her head. Helen's fists clenched, but she smiled, water swirling gently around her legs as the faerie's hands stroked her, absently, while she restored her. The hands eventually moved forward, resting on her lower stomach before slipping upwards, dancing across her sternum and ribs before brushing over her breasts. Her touch remained light as she played over Helen's full chest, nails barely skimming over the undersides, barely flicking at her nipples. Helen's head rolled further to the side as the woman kissed on her neck moving upwards to nibble just behind her ear.

Helen moved her head back the other way, forcing the lips away from her neck, half opening her eyes so she could see the Fey's face and properly zero in on her lips. Hands grew tight on her breasts as Helen's tongue slid into the faerie's mouth and lazily kissed her. The kiss grew deep and fingers pinched at her nipples. Then it turned light again, teasing touches, soft nips while fingers danced lightly once again. Eventually Helen turned in the woman's arms, pressing her body into the tan skin and framing her face in her hands, fully engaging in the long, passionate kiss. One of the Fey's arms wrapped around Helen's back, holding her close, while the other rose to cup the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair. Helen didn't know how long they stood there, sun warming their backs as they embraced, but eventually the kiss started to slow, and slacken off. Wide, open mouths closed and tongues pulled back, only peeking out to gently trace a lip as they softly pressed skin against skin. Soon, their lips stopped touching, though they still held each other, resting their foreheads against one another's and breathing in unison.

It was the Fey who pulled back, looking at Helen with a serene smile. Helen sighed and smiled in return, leaning in for one last kiss before letting her hands drop to her sides. The Fey could tell that Helen thought their time was over and reached out to touch her shoulder.

"Look down, Helen," she said. Helen's eyes crinkled, confused, but she complied. The water was oddly still, no hint of ripples, even though her body moved as she gazed down. The smooth surface acted as glass, and Helen stared in wonder at her own reflection.

That couldn't be her, could it?

Helen had been avoiding mirrors lately. They showed too much. All she could see was the face that refused to wrinkle, but couldn't hide the years. She'd grown sick of the dark circles betraying her lack of sleep when her manservant asked her if she was getting any rest. Her eyes, once vibrant and curious, had grown dull and dusty. The set of her mouth was hard, downcast, part of her armor, her mask against the world. Perhaps her skin didn't wrinkle, but it was tight from too many years of stress, years of bottling up every emotion she had in order to get the job done. It was too pale, almost sallow, from too much time inside offices, or trekking through barren lands looking for creatures who didn't want to be found. Her hair, dyed dark during a stormy, depressing night after Jason's death, made her skin seem even paler. Her eyes looked sunken and wide, framed by its nighttime shade. She felt if she looked at herself, she couldn't lie anymore, wearing the truth of her appearance like a shackle. Expensive clothes, makeup, and impeccable hair could only hide so much.

The woman staring back at her was not the woman from those mirrors. This woman's skin was like porcelain, fair and smooth. Her mouth was soft and pink, curved ever so slightly upwards. Her eyes were bright, hopeful… happy? The Fey's hands rose from the water, covering Helen's face, gently running her thumbs along her nose and cheeks before dropping back down again. Helen looked down again, eyes growing wide. It was as if years had been literally lifted from her skin, sorrows and stress washed away in the pureness of this pool. She thought briefly of the legend of the fountain of youth. Here, with these people, in this place, she was being reborn.

The faerie's hands reached out, resting on Helen's hips, and as she brought her head up to look into the green eyes, Helen saw one last thing. She didn't know if it was a trick of the sun, still burning brightly around them and reflecting off the waters, but… Helen could have sworn she was glowing.

Helen looked to the faerie with wide eyes, imploring, questioning, excited. The Fey smiled at her.

"We only helped you realize your true worth. These changes are from you, not us."

The faerie looked at her with admiration and pride, and Helen's heart swelled, inordinately pleased that she'd somehow, unknowingly, passed their test. She suddenly found herself laughing; the external changes merely a manifestation of her inner cleansing. The faerie laughed along with her, like tiny, tinkling bells, an aria of joy and freedom.

Helen felt a wave of energy pass through her and she suddenly thrust her hands forward, hammering into the faerie's shoulders. The green eyes opened wide in shock as she fell backwards, splashing into the water and Helen's laughter grew louder. The faerie recovered underwater, rising gracefully upwards with a stern look on her face, hands moving up to push her hair away. Helen felt no fear, no shame, smirking impetuously at her. Superior being or not, everyone, at some point, deserved to be dunked. The faerie's eyes narrowed as she sensed Helen's thoughts. With the speed of a jaguar the faerie suddenly shot forward, grabbing Helen by the waist and pushing her clear off her feet, landing in the water almost four feet back. The faerie was still holding back strength after all. Helen swam back and grabbed onto the faerie's shoulders, taking her under the water with her and they wrestled and rolled in its blue green depths. They emerged when the need for air overpowered them, gasping in air but laughing at the same time. The faerie shook her head at Helen's playfulness, not having encountered such enthusiasm for a simple thing like splashing in an age. Helen wasn't the only one learning things about herself. The faeries had been learning from her too. They had so much to thank her for.

The two women continued their physical banter, pushing, pulling, chasing each other through the deep waters of the secluded haven. Helen continued to be amazed at the lupine elegance of the faerie's movements. When she opened her eyes underwater, Helen could see as clearly as if she were above ground and she eagerly explored the quiet, blue world with her gaze. There was no other sign of life in its depths, no growth. Only flowing white sands, water, and her magical companion. Helen felt as if she could swim forever, not growing tired, not feeling the need to touch solid ground.

Without her realizing it, the faerie backed her up onto the sand. Helen felt it squish warmly between her toes as the woman held her hands and encouraged her to stand. The water came up to just past her belly button. The faerie wrapped a hand around to Helen's opposite hip while the other pushed against her chest, arching Helen's back, and her navel rose above the water, feet leaving the sand. She was completely supported, suspended in the water as the faerie's hand slipped from her chest to her lower back, mouth descending on a wet nipple. Helen's back arched further and she let her head fall back as the woman gently sucked. She latched on with her teeth, pulling, forcing it into a peak, as far as it would go. Helen let her hands rest on the woman's shoulders as she moved to her other breast.

When Helen could take no more, her hands moved to the blonde hair, tugging on it to pull her away. The faerie let her sink back down and Helen stood strong as she leaned in to kiss her, hands moving to the Fey's firm breasts. Tanned hands moved up to Helen's and continued their assault on her aching nipples, both working each other as their tongues moved faster, harder. When the need to breathe overwhelmed her Helen pulled back, gasping, and the faerie pushed her backwards until she fell onto her back in the shallow water near the shore. Water lapped gently against them as they made love on the white sands, bringing each other to sweet release with tongues, then hands, then tongues again, over and over. The sun continued to shine and Helen wondered if the Faerie's lived outside of normal time, in some world just beside her own.

Hours passed but Helen never tired, did not feel hungry. When the time seemed right, she stood, diving back into the water and swimming over to the waterfall as the faerie followed her. Helen stood under the cascading waters, head thrown back, mouth open, drinking it's cool clearness, more cleansing than citrus, more addicting than wine.

They were making love again, the Fey kneeling before her under the spray of the falls, when Helen sensed a presence. Two, to be precise. She opened her eyes, able to see with amazing clarity through the running water the two Fey she'd been with on the rock. They swam towards the falls so fast Helen thought she was seeing things, but when they rose from the depths, climbing onto the plateau and reaching out to touch her, Helen knew they were real.

They made love to her, the three of them, and the sun eventually set. Its dying rays bathed them in gold, red, and orange, and their eyes shone brighter. In the silver moonlight their skin, though tanned, looked white, glowing more brilliant than in the day. Helen lost all track of time, only aware of hands and lips, teeth and tongues, around her, on her, in her all at once.

Helen laughed, cried, screamed and sighed, lost in a world of ecstasy. While it was happening, everything was vivid, extreme, clearer than anything she could remember, though the memories, the distinct feelings, sights, sensations, would eventually fade into the realm of dreamlike mystique. Never forgotten, but always elusive, hanging just outside of her mind so that she couldn't quite recall the facts.

The sun would set and rise but climax was her rest, their pleasure her fuel. Every so often, at the height of her most intense bliss, they melded not only in body, but in mind. She understood the way they communicated, hear their thoughts, and knew that while she had chosen to forgo that path, they would still accept her if she ever changed her mind.

In time, they stopped accepting her pleasure, immobilizing her for her own, final experience. Helen could feel her mind starting to drift and she fought to stay awake, but their voices filled her head with wordless sound. The music she had heard in the forest, what seemed like a lifetime ago, began lulling her to sleep a world of peaceful dreams.

Finally, her mind gave in, her eyes closed, and she slept.

_To Be Continued_

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><p>Well, that's the end of the magic!smutfest. Sorry. Hope you liked it :) There still awaits a bunch of wonderful adventury action!<p> 


	10. Moving On

**A/N:** To celebrate The Big Season 4 Premiere in exactly one week... I present to thee, the grand finale of this semi-epic tale! Thank you SO MUCH to all my reviewers; you don't know how much I've appreciated your remarks and insights throughout this journey :) You've all inspired me to start more than a dozen new projects! But for now... *Drum Roll* The Faerie Finale!

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><p>Helen woke up alone.<p>

She lay still, eyes closed, listening, smelling, breathing, remembering. She felt sad, empty, knowing her time with the faerie people was over, at least for now, but refused to dwell. She was thankful, beyond thankful, that they had given her the gifts they had. She opened her eyes and was struck with a strong sense of déjà vu. She turned her head to the side and realized she was back in the clearing, laying on the mossy rock. When had she returned? Had they, in the midst of sexual highs, moved back here? Or had they brought her to this place afterwards? It didn't matter. She wished she could have said goodbye to them.

Steeling herself against such thoughts, she began to think, analyze, and discover what had been done to her. She took a deep breath to prepare herself and was assaulted by the first change. _Smell_. She could smell the dirt in the ground below, the grass, the flowers at the edge of the clearing, even distant water. She focused her eyes and found she could see every single pedicel on the gongora orchids that grew in the distance. She could distinguish every shade of green. She closed her eyes, focusing on her ears, and the jungle came alive. An orchestra of nature resounded around her.

She opened her eyes, letting the sounds fade away, shaking her head in wonder. Would these changes last? Was it like her source blood, altering her forever? Or would she need to come back to this place, meet with the Fey again, to sustain it? Her eyes suddenly closed against her will, and her thoughts went silent. A few moments later, her eyes reopened, and she knew the answer.

The effects would fade. The Fey couldn't change her any more without transforming her completely. However, as long as she was in the Amazon, they would remain. The closer she was to this place, the faerie lands, the stronger her senses would be. While she was disappointed she couldn't bring these skills back to her work at the Sanctuary, she knew they would never fade completely. She would still be able to help in more ways than she ever had. This was her second chance, and she would reenter the world a better, newer version of herself.

But before she could reenter that world there were loose ends to clear up. Santos and his men could not continue to roam unchecked. They'd let her go, but she could see the spark of obsession in Santos' eyes. He would continue to look for the faerie people, and now that she knew they were real, had been accepted as one of them, she couldn't risk him finding them. The faeries aside, they were savage, cruel, men and she couldn't let them leave this jungle and go back to civilization to spread their chaos. She wouldn't mind seeing Santos again, face to face, on even terms. She wondered if she still glowed. Wouldn't that excite him? She couldn't wait to wipe the triumph from his face. A visit with his sallow second-in-command wouldn't be so bad either. Helen should have felt remorse at her vengeful thoughts, but she'd learned in the last few days to accept her feelings for what they were, unchangeable. She could only choose how to deal with such desires, how to act, or not act. In this case, she welcomed her strong emotions. She didn't like passing judgment, but these people were evil, pure and undistilled.

She thought of Manau, the poor boy who had been caught up in the sick cat and mouse games of Santos' hoard. She had to try and rescue him. Could the faeries save him? Heal him? Could she dare believe they could restart the process they'd been trying in the first place? Her eyes were once again forced shut. Yes, they could. Helen breathed a sigh of relief. She wondered what the boy had looked like before this mess, what he would look like after. A strong, young man, she was sure. Brown hair, brown eyes. She smiled. If she and John had had a son, he would have surely had blue eyes.

She started at the thought. Where had that come from?

Her heart started to thud against her chest. A son. A _child_. It was something she hadn't ever let herself consider, after her time with John. Her life was not something she could ever dare bring a child into. With the way she had been living the last few years, how could she ever see herself as fit to bear and raise a child?

But now…

Helen felt the blood coursing through her veins, the lightness in her heart. Could she? She'd always been afraid that the changes the source blood had made to her would lead to too many complications. She was afraid of the disappointment of not being able to get pregnant, or becoming so only to have a host of problems arise. Now, though, with her heightened senses, could she maybe risk it? She would be able to sense if something was wrong, she was sure of it. Her heart was racing at this sudden, new possibility. These past few years she'd lost sight of her mission, her reasons for fighting. She'd fallen into herself, selfish, depressed, and angry. It was time she breathed new life into this world and herself.

As Helen gazed at the wild green beneath her, she knew what she had to do. She refused to wallow in self-pity any longer, to fight alone, having no one to share her triumphs and failures with. Her thoughts drifted to a small, frozen tube, hidden away in the most secret, most safe area of her home.

She would bear this loneliness no longer.

But first, she had a job to finish.

Helen closed her eyes, focusing her attention, and the sounds of the jungle filled her ears. She tuned out the noises of animals, trees, water, anything natural. She frowned, not hearing what she was looking for. She reached out further, stretching her ears and finally picked up on the faint sounds of marching. She couldn't believe how far Santos and his men had travelled. How long, how many _days_ had she spent with the faerie clan? She remembered that sometime during the seemingly ceaseless sex, they'd told her that time fluctuated in their realm. If Santos had gotten so far in real time… her mind reeled at the thought of how long she had stayed with them.

She ignored the thrill that shot through her body at the memories.

Concentrating on Santos' clan, she realized it sounded smaller, quieter than it should. Even with the five men she had dispatched, there were at least 20 men left. She guessed there were now no more than 15. She wondered what had happened to them.

Suddenly Helen heard the sound of another group, about 35 men, quickly moving towards the smaller one. She was further surprised they'd been able to avoid Escobar's men this long. For a few minutes she contemplated the logic of letting Escobar inevitably catch up and deal with them but decided against it. She had to try and rescue Manau at the very least. She also wanted to finally give Santos the demonstration of her power that he so dearly desired.

With a determined breath, she moved to the edge of the rock and hopped down, surprised at the ease of the fall and the flexibility in her limbs as she bent her knees to absorb the ground's impact. She felt the billowing of soft material over her skin. She looked down and saw she was clothed in a cream-coloured dress. She had been so preoccupied with her internal changes that she'd forgotten to look at the outside. Her skin did still glow. The dress fit her without being tight and molded against her skin when she moved as though it was a part of her. It was softer than velvet but when she gathered it in her hand, it felt strong. She had the feeling she could run a knife into it and it wouldn't break. A sudden, bright light hit her eyes, and she squinted, looking down. A smooth, curved machete lay resting in the grass. She bent down and picked it up. She didn't test the blade; she could see that its edges were razor sharp.

Helen walked towards the edge of the clearing and hesitated. She knew that when she passed back into the jungle she would forever leave the faerie's land. She took a deep breath, sending out her goodbyes, her thanks, hoping they would hear her. Their sweet voices filtered back to her, and she smiled, knowing they were still with her, watching and protecting. She looked at the jungle, noting the slightest hint of sheen, a shimmering, as if a wall stood between this clearing and the world beyond. She stepped forward and passed through. Her skin dulled and she clenched her jaw, but pressed forward, the machete in her hand cutting through thick vine like tissue paper. As she moved towards the noise of Santos, she started to see things. A broken stick, a crushed leaf. She realized she'd found their trail and wondered if her tracking skills were that good, or if it was because of her new gifts? Whichever it was she was thankful. She also realized that she wasn't laboring her way through the jungle, hampered by vegetation. She wasn't even walking. She was running. Her eyes saw everything as if she were standing still, and her arm flew about her at incredible speeds, clearing her path without her even thinking about it. She suddenly recognized the appeal of comic books, the idea of "super heroes" with special powers, and laughed at herself. A super hero's powers weren't limited to a single, geographical area as hers were. Ah well.

As she moved further and further away from the dwelling of the Fey, she started to feel hungry. She grabbed fresh fruit that hung from trees as she ran by, leaping over fallen logs and ducking under branches. She stopped only once, at a small stream, to drink. The water was dull and lifeless compared to that of her waterfall, but it was still wet, generally clean, and it quenched her thirst. As she was drinking, preoccupied with thoughts of the waterfall, a jararaca slithered up beside her. She didn't know it was there until it struck out, blurry with speed, its fangs dripping with venom. Her ankle was bare and within easy reach. The snake closed in on its target, but at the last second a rush of energy surged from her suddenly brightly glowing skin. It flowed into the snake like a lightning bolt, and it was thrown several feet back, lying in a heap of coils, dead. Magnus heard the shock and looked down, seeing only the last spark as the snake flew away. She felt the faeries in her mind again, and a feeling of absolute security washed over, covering her like a veil. This was their land, and she was one of them. She grinned.

Within a day she had caught up to Santos' clan. She waited until nightfall before entering the camp.

* * *

><p>When Magnus finally broke through the border of jungle and clearing, the camp was in chaos. The men were fighting each other, tents were half torn and supplies were scattered. No one would have even noticed her entrance but for the fact that she was a woman wearing only a small dress, and she was glowing, an ethereal, white phantom. The men were shocked into silence, stopping mid-fight to stare, open mouthed. After a moment a young soldier cried out, dropping the man he had in a headlock and grabbing at the pendant around his neck. Another man immediately followed suit. Suddenly the men were all clutching their charms, prayers falling from their mouths as they started to back away from her. She grinned, wryly. If only the UN delegates could cower like this when she entered a room.<p>

"Santos!" she called. Her voice echoed through the clearing. She could smell him, pick out his distinct scent amidst the general haze that lay over the camp.

She heard shuffling in one of the tents on the far side of the clearing, and the large man stepped out. He saw her, and his steps faltered until he stood, stock still. She heard a sound from another tent, on the opposite side of the clearing, and a small, sallow man emerged. His eyebrows rose, and she was surprised he had even that strong a reaction. She could see respect, awe, and acceptance on his face. When she looked back to Santos, she saw shock, fury, excitement and ambition. His hand suddenly flicked out, she heard a click, a trigger being pulled, and the boom of a shot rang through the air. She gasped.

After a moment, she looked down. Her skin was unbroken, her dress unmarked. He pulled the trigger again and this time she saw the bullet flying towards her, straight for her heart, as if in slow motion. Barely a millimeter away from boring into her chest, there was a tiny flash of light, and the bullet was gone. Not directed away, not stopped dead in its tracks to fall to the ground; just… gone. Thoughts drifted into her mind, and she laughed. The Fey didn't want any of the humans' horrid metal devices littering their lands. It was unhealthy for the ground, and thoroughly displeasing to the eye.

Santos was fidgeting now, raising his hand and whipping a finger around in a circle in the air. Whatever man had a weapon on hand raised it, and the air was alive with the sounds of shooting and the smell of smoke. Helen kept her head bowed, watching the bullets disappear into tiny flashes of light, like mini fireworks, or twinkling stars. It was almost beautiful. After several moments, whether because they realized it was futile, or because they ran out of ammunition, the men stopped firing. Magnus raised her head. Santos was clutching at the medallion hanging around his neck, mouthing silent words. He glanced over to one of his men, a hulking mass of muscle, and nodded sharply. The burly man shot forward, running towards her, swinging a wicked, curved blade.

Magnus waited until he was bringing the blade down, poised to cut through her neck and shoulder, before she raised her machete. The man's knife snapped in two, and when his momentum carried his hand forward, useless hilt still in his grip, his fist bounced off her shoulder as if hitting a rock. He cried out, hand breaking and hilt falling uselessly to the ground. He looked at her with furious, wide eyes, snarling as he charged forward again with his good fist. It should have broken her nose at the very least, if not her cheekbone as well. She should have been knocked off her feet and thrown to the ground. Instead, the man wound up with two broken hands while she remained still, not even a breeze ruffling her hair. When the man charged forward one last time, she reached out and planted her hand on his chest. She let him continue forward, bending her elbow, coiling her muscles before pushing out. All 6'5" of the man's wide frame lifted off the ground, and he flew clear across the dell to land in a heap, unmoving.

Santos gestured wildly, calling to his men, screaming for them to attack and overpower her. None of them moved. Juan crossed his arms and calmly watched the proceedings. Magnus' voice, echoing across the clearing, stopped Santos mid-sentence.

"I don't want to hurt any of you," she said. "But I can't let you go free to spread your murderous ways." She paused for a moment, looking each man in the eye. She couldn't see the deformed young boy anywhere. "If you can swear to me, right now, that you will never pick up a weapon to harm another person, animal, or creature unjustly, ever again, than I will allow you to live." Several of the men started shuffling, nervously. A few looked pensive. One man outright scoffed, and her vision narrowed in on him. His eyes went wide, and in the next second he was gone. The only sign that he was ever there was a faint wispy vapour that quickly dispersed into the night air. The men surrounding him gasped, stumbling backwards to get away from the magic, before turning to stare at her.

Magnus hadn't killed the man. She wasn't here to slaughter anyone. She was merely the vessel through which the faeries could see, looking straight into these men's souls. If the Fey decided a man was not worthy or not true in his promise of peace to Magnus, they would rid them from their lands. Magnus couldn't stop them, though she rather wished she could. She was practically one of them now, yes, but as she watched several of the men suddenly turn to dust, she was thankful for her decision to not become one of them forever. She'd shared experiences with them that she could never describe to anyone, even herself, but she didn't know everything about them. She was glad she hadn't blindly followed them, falling under their spell completely.

When the faerie's judgment was complete, even the tents, supplies, and food had disappeared. Only five men remained standing; Juan, Santos, and three others. A huddled shape lay on the ground at the far edge of the clearing. Magnus looked to one of the men she didn't know. Her mind was filled with images of a woman, smiling as she watched three young children, a boy and twin girls, running towards her. Magnus smiled, and she nodded at the man. His face crumpled, and he sobbed, falling to his knees and bowing to her. She felt the faeries infuse him with strength, love, and a sense of direction. He stood up, his eyes gleaming, and turned around. He ran straight into the forest. Magnus knew she would never hear from him again. Magnus turned toward another of the unknown men, who couldn't have been more than 25. This time her mind was filled with the sight of a young woman, barely even 20, giggling shyly as she raised an apron to her face to try hide her blushing cheeks. Magnus chuckled, shaking her head, and the man managed to blush and cower in hopeful fear at the same time. She nodded, and the man was given the same gift of life from the faeries before turning and bolting away.

She turned to the final stranger and frowned. The images she received from him were unclear. There was no woman, or man, or family of any kind. Instead she felt feelings, the idea that he didn't know what to do with himself, only that he wanted to leave this place and learn of new things. He was certain there was a world beyond what he knew, and he wanted to explore it. The faeries hesitated, unsure of what to do. In a sudden flood of inspiration, Magnus let them know. They were surprised, but accepted her decision. They filled the man, named Isidro, with his own set of directions. As he ran off, they informed her that his name meant, "gifted with many ideas" and she hoped he was. She hoped he would be able to rise up out of the darkness and cruelty that his life had been.

Finally, the clearing was empty but for Magnus, Juan, and Santos. She knew that very soon at least two of them would be dead, but before that happened, she had to know a few things.

"What happened here?" she asked, referring to the camp and its state of utter mutiny. Santos was relieved at her question, thinking he still had a chance to talk to her, convince her to let him live, maybe even agree to let him join her own band. When he spoke his voice was calm and even, but she could still hear his fanatical undertones.

"This _puta_ dared challenge my leadership," he said, nodding his head towards his second in command.

"Is that not his right?" she asked.

"If he had directly challenged me, I would have accepted and fought him like the men we are! But no, this little man could not confront me face to face. Instead he whispered words in the ears of my men. He told them that I was no longer fit to lead, that I was blinded by my obsession with you and your kind." As he spoke, Santos' eyes grew more and more fevered. Magnus still didn't know how many days she had been with the faeries, but it had obviously been enough to completely throw this resilient, dangerous man off the edge. Considering she didn't know anything about his mental state before she'd met him, she couldn't say how long the build up to this breakdown had been. She didn't know about his childhood, growing up in a loveless, abusive home. How he had killed his father while the man had tried to beat his mother. How he had suddenly discovered the power he could wield, and how much he enjoyed it. As he'd grown up and learned the arts of war and politics, he began to truly believe he could help his people and make a difference. The path he followed to achieve that goal, however, made any chance of a peaceful ascension impossible. As years passed and his dreams remained unrealized, he'd grown more and more frustrated. When he'd discovered the idea of "the faeries" he'd been instantly captivated. It was a perfect solution, an answer to all his problems. He just needed to find one. He had literally been searching for her all his life, and when she had slipped away from him, it had been too much.

Magnus didn't know any of this, but her very presence in this jungle spoke to the fact that she knew all about a slow descent into very dark places. She could see Juan smiling out of the corner of her eye and knew the damage he could have caused without seeming to have said anything at all. A simple idea planted in the minds of such a small, tempestuous group could be more deadly than any outright battle.

"You are a cruel man, Santos," she said. "Though I don't approve of his methods, Juan was right to think you did not deserve your power."

Santos' eyes went dark, and his lips curled back in a growling sneer.

"I challenge you, right here, right now. Face to face," she said.

Santos' rage overpowered his fear. With a roar he leapt forward. He did not dissolve into an ash cloud as his men had. The faeries let Magnus deal with him on her own, knowing that while she didn't enjoy killing, she needed to face this foe herself. When he dove towards her, she hopped to the side so fast he barely had time to realize he was falling forward before he managed to duck and roll, standing up again. This time he approached her slowly, calculating, trying to get close enough that she couldn't just zip away again. She let him get close. When he suddenly struck out with his fist, she was still able to block him. It was a testament to his physical prowess that his arm didn't break when it came into contact with hers. He hissed, but didn't back down. He used his hiss as an attempted distraction as he thrust his foot out to sweep hers out from underneath her. She could hear the whistling of his foot as he moved; sense the subtle shift in the air as his muscles tensed. She stepped off to the side, using his sweeping foot to unbalance him and let him fall to the ground. She backed off, letting him get up again, wiping the dirt from his hands onto his pants.

He advanced on her again and to his credit, she did have to work to deflect his attacks. She used his own power against him, using his momentum to keep him moving, twisting, turning. Every time he hit the ground he would get up, but each time it took a second or two longer. Within minutes he was red faced and breathing heavily while sweat poured down his forehead, and blood dripped from numerous cuts and wounds. A few more falls, and he didn't get up. Blood was pounding in her own ears as Magnus tried to keep the haze of battle from her mind, to stay focused and not think about things like revenge or justice. She walked up to him, kneeling down to check his status, when a glint of silver flashed just outside of her vision. She turned towards it, finding a small but sharp knife flying towards her held in a large, beefy fist. She reacted on instinct, as his body suddenly lurched up from the ground to support his final attempt on her life. She blocked and twisted, throwing him sideways. She heard a surprised grunt, and then he was still again. She stood and moved around his still limbs to see his eyes staring straight ahead, lifeless, impaled on his own blade. A few seconds later, his body seemed to sink into the ground, leaving a fine layer of debris.

Magnus breathed out, slowly, willing her pulse to slow down and her mind to clear. She was thankful that the world was rid of at least one more ruthless tyrant.

She felt a slight depression in the ground behind her and spun around, grabbing the wrist of the hand that held the knife, a bare centimeter from where her back had been, and what was now her chest. Juan sneered at her, and she tightened her grip. The knife fell from a useless hand, but his face did not waver. His arm went slack, and she let go.

"I had to try," he said in a quiet, raspy voice. It had a sinuous quality, like a snake. Magnus nodded in acknowledgment of his stealth, and let the knife drop to the ground. She observed the man.

"What did you hope to achieve by creating anarchy?" she questioned.

"He was not fit to lead," he replied.

She frowned. "And you were?"

He smiled at this, a crooked upturn of his lips, and shook his head.

"I have no desire to lead."

"Then what was your purpose?"

He was quiet for a moment.

"Do I have to have one?"

A cold shiver ran down her spine. Juan was a different breed than Santos. The former leader had had a goal, an action plan for what he thought was good for his people. But this pale, scarred man did not. Some people in the world just wanted to cause pain, and he was one of them. She felt the faerie's asking her what she would like to do, and she told them to wait.

"Do you have a purpose now?" she asked. He knew what she was hoping to hear and thrilled to disappoint.

"No."

She nodded.

"Very well."

She was silent for a few moments, allowing him to gather his thoughts though she suspected he didn't need to.

"Will you do it yourself?" she asked, breaking the silence. He nodded. She bent down and picked up his weapon, handing it back. He gazed at the blade, turning it over in his hands a few times, reverently, before raising his eyes to gaze into her own, smiling.

He raised the knife and without any preamble plunged it into his chest, straight through the heart, looking at her the whole time. His expression never wavered. Goosebumps broke out across her flesh despite the muggy heat as he fell to the ground at her feet.

Magnus quickly turned and walked a few steps away. She'd known several people who had taken their own lives, but she had never witnessed it so up close, so very full of intent. In a way, it was the perfect cap on top of her dark years. A ritualistic sacrifice to symbolize the true end of that chapter of her life, the cleansing of evil before a new era could begin. The first act of this new era would be a rescue.

Magnus turned towards the prostrate form at the boundary of the clearing and walked purposely forward. She knelt down at Mauno's side, reaching out to check his pulse, afraid she was too late. She breathed a sigh of relief when she felt his slow, steady heartbeat. She closed her eyes and laid her palm flat on his arm. She didn't know what happened next, whether it was her own power or that of the faeries channeling through her once again, but the boy's body twitched, and his eyes flew open. She felt a moment of tension, remembering the swirling, oily mass that had inhabited the sockets when she'd last seen him. She owed it to him to look again. She saw frightened, brown eyes looking back at her, and her heart broke. She could see the regret and shame in them, and knew he remembered everything about his time as a "monster" and what he'd done to her. Before Santos had stolen him, he had never hurt any living thing in his life and had never wanted to. Had the violence he wrought on her always been there in the back of his mind? Or had it erupted solely due to his transformation? Magnus could see the mental war being waged, and for a moment thought of another man, and the character change that had happened after a willingly accepted, blood-filled needle.

"It's ok," she whispered in Portuguese, hoping her voice could be as soothing as the thoughts of the faeries. They couldn't penetrate his mind in the state of half-being that he was trapped in, so he had only her words to help him right now. First, though, he had to absorb the idea that despite what he'd done to her, she was here, this angel, to liberate him.

"Everything will be ok from now on," she promised him. "Santos and his men are gone forever." She could see hope flicker in his eyes then die within the span of a heartbeat. He couldn't hope anymore. Hope only brought disappointment and hurt. She raised her palm to his cheek, stroking gently with her thumb.

"The faeries would like to have you back with them. They want to try once more to make you one of their own. Is that still what you want?"

She could see him considering, remembering the pain of being ripped from the process by the grubby hands of his captors. But he also remembered the feeling of being with the Fey, the creatures who were beyond anything he'd ever imagined. He had never felt so safe, so loved, except when in the arms of his mother, dead so many years ago. She could see the decision in his eyes, and her heart soared for him. They would take care of him, and he would never again know fear or oppression.

Voices sounded through her mind, thanking her, praising her performance, but also gently asking her to leave. Her time with them was done, and they could not bear to have the temptation of her presence in their lands any longer.

"No, I can't leave yet," she protested. "I have to bring the boy to you."

They shook their heads. They would retrieve him themselves, not wanting to put him through the potential agony of transport. She grudgingly accepted their logic.

_Do not fear,_ they said. _We will be with him soon._

She knew that no harm would come to the boy once she left him. She leaned down and gently kissed Mauno on his crackled, broken forehead. Soon it would be smooth and radiant. She stood up and started walking away from him.

She never turned back to see if Juan's body had been taken into the ground like everyone else. She simply started to run.

* * *

><p>Magnus ran solidly, ignoring any need for food or drink until she made it to Diogo's glade. Along the way she realized that her problems weren't quite over. She'd taken down Santos and his men, but they had been a mere faction within Pablo Escobar's empire. He was the real problem now. She'd cut down one of his major instigators, but his abnormal smuggling was still in full swing. She would have to deal with him, the sooner the better. But not now. For now, she had to get back to the Sanctuary and mend some fences. There were also personal issues she had to think over. She needed to regroup and refocus. When she eventually did go for Escobar, she would need to be prepared and in full control.<p>

It was the middle of the afternoon when she arrived at Diogo's glade, and both he and Isidro were waiting for her, tense with anticipation. She was glad to see that Isidro had followed the instincts the Fey had given him. From the way the two men clapped each other's hands together in relief and joy at the sight of her, she could tell she had made the right decision about him. Diogo let go of his new friend's hands and turned towards her. At first his eyebrows rose as he took in her unconventional outfit, still pristine despite the fighting of the night before. His eyebrows remained aloft as he observed her fresh, vibrant looks in general. Then his face turned to stone and he stalked towards her. She had never seen him so angry.

"Seven days, Helen," he said, his voice strained with the effort of withholding his rage. "Seven days you have been out of communication with me. The night of the 22nd you suddenly just… disappeared. If not for the strange tales my animals have been telling me of a mysterious new elf mage that emerged into existence yesterday, I would have thought you dead long ago. All of today, too, I have been waiting."

Magnus was stunned.

"Seven days?" she repeated, quickly doing the math. She had been with the faeries for more than a week? "It's the 31st?" she asked. He nodded shortly.

_Dear God!_ She thought_. I thought I'd been with them for maybe 2 or 3 days… _Her body started to tingle, but she clamped down on the feeling immediately. This was certainly no time for that. She wondered if she would ever be able to think of Brazil, jungles, or waterfalls again without her body reacting so.

"I apologize, my friend," she said. "Truly and deeply. Please believe that if I could have contacted you, sent you a message in any way, I would have."

The Brazilian scowled at her, but nodded. Without knowing what had happened, he could not justify his anger. If her tale was half as bizarre as his animal brethren led him to believe, he was sure she was telling the truth.

"But I am not the only one who has been worried," he said. At this, Magnus gulped.

"Is he on right now?" she asked. Diogo nodded and led her into his shack. She sat down on the stump that he had for the rare occasion she visited and needed a place to sit. She picked up the microphone and turned the radio on. She closed her eyes and sent up a silent prayer before she spoke.

"Hello, old friend," she said.

The only reply she got was a sudden roar, followed by a tirade of incomprehensible admonishments, curses, and proclamations of joy. She hoped her journey home would give the Big Guy time to calm down, but she was sure she would receive another bout when she arrived at the Sanctuary. When she felt he had vented enough, she cut through his rambling.

"Yes… YES, thank you, I quite understand," she yelled. His roaring quieted down to a dull shout.

"Eight days!" he growled again.

"I know…"

"No word at all!"

"I _know_."

"Magnus…"

His last word was suddenly quiet, so much so she barely heard him. The single word had more impact on her than all of his shouting, and she felt tears well in her eyes as her chest constricted. How could she not have realized how much she meant to him? How much he meant to her?

"I'm sorry," she whispered back.

There were several moments of silence while she heard shuffling noises through the comms. She couldn't think about him needing tissues, or she would burst into tears herself. She finally heard a grunt, and his voice filtered back on.

"When will you be home?"

_Home._

Magnus looked to Diogo and Isidro. Isidro eyes were suspiciously bright, but Diogo chimed in immediately.

"I had a ticket booked as soon as my people told me the bad men were gone," he admitted. "Just in case. I figured you would want to leave as soon as possible."

Magnus looked to Isidro, who seemed suddenly worried.

"I booked another ticket when they told me you were coming," finished Diogo.

He rarely communicated with the "outside world," and to have done so, twice, was beyond anything she could have hoped for from him. She smiled as she stood up, leaving the radio for a moment so she could put her arms around him. Physical contact with other humans was almost as rare as talking to them, and though he floundered for a moment, he wrapped his own arms around her and held on. The hug only lasted a few seconds, but it was the best thanks she could have given him. She patted him on the shoulder once more as she sat down again.

"I'll be at the airport as soon as I can. I'll be home within a day," she informed her butler.

"I ignored all the paperwork," he told her, and she laughed. However worried he had been, he had still held enough faith in her that she would return to finish it.

"And I have one hell of a story for you," she told him.

Diogo relayed the exact flight information to the Big Guy while Magnus quickly talked to Isidro. She had only briefly glimpsed into his mind and relished the chance to finally talk to the man she had chosen to be her new protégé. The decision had been sudden, but she'd known, somehow, that it would turn out all right . As she talked with him, she knew she had been right. His mind was sharp and spoke of untapped potential. He didn't have any formal education, but she could tell he was intelligent. Most importantly, his mind was open. She knew he would accept the world of the Sanctuary with an eager and ambitious fortitude.

He would be with her for only 10 years, leaving her then for the soul mate he finally found in a woman named Maria, who had the remarkable ability to manipulate small amounts of metal in her hands. They started a small jewelry and ornaments shop back in his native Brazil, and he was never happier. During the 10 years he spent with Magnus, he learned and contributed much, and she never begrudged his decision to leave it behind.

But as she stood talking to him for the first time in the small clearing by the shack, her mind was filled with the possibilities of a bright future. When Diogo emerged from his home and jumped up into the driver's seat of his small jeep, she smiled brightly. She let Isidro jump in next, taking a moment to turn around and survey the still forest one last time. She breathed in deeply, feeling her powers wane further and further. Her remorse at the fact was tempered by the knowledge that she could always return, and the soft "_Until next time_," that floated through her head. She was still smiling when she hopped up into the jeep and drove away.

* * *

><p><strong>Epilogue<strong>

The hum of the engine was as comforting to Magnus as some people found gently lapping waves on a seashore. The slightly scratchy, somewhat rigid material of the seat behind her felt like soft down. Ten thousand feet up in the air, and she felt more grounded than she had in years. The irony was not lost on her, and she found herself chuckling at herself. It was incredible, feeling this connected to reality again.

While never being too vain or indulgent, Magnus had always enjoyed having clothes, decorations, and a deep appreciation for good quality. Her dresses were well made, and her wine was always the finest. So much had changed in her brief time in the jungle. She knew she'd been taking these things for granted. Her fine clothes had stopped giving her comfort, the good food, on the rare occasion she ate, was tasteless. She paid no mind to the expensive cars or being able to take her private jet whenever she needed. Magnus realized now how ungrateful she'd become, how insensitive to everything around her. She vowed from now on she wouldn't take such things for granted. She marveled at the fact that even here, flying through the sky, she could ask for something to drink or eat, get a blanket to cover herself, or go to the bathroom in a hygienic environment. It was incredible, the innovations of mankind, the way they had developed, with her there watching it all. She was, in many ways, lucky to have this unique perspective on life. It wasn't always heartache and pain and bitterness. She glanced over at Isidro, eyes wide in wonder at the sensation of flying, as he had never done before. The amazement in his eyes every time she told him he could ask for food, water, anything, was an unexpected reward.

She wanted to feel, taste, and appreciate again. Not just her material possessions, but the people around her. She felt a vague sickness at the thought of how she'd been treating some of her friends – a tall, hairy one in particular.

She would have to work hard to repair the damage she'd done to her relationships, but she would try her hardest. She needed companionship again, needed friendship and support and, dare she say it, love.

Her mind drifted back again to the frozen vial hidden in that dark room. The little bundle of cells suddenly represented a new hope. Not only was it the perfect way to commemorate this change in her perspective on, well, life itself, it was a way to ensure that it continued. Magnus had known many kinds of love in her time, both physical and emotional, but the love of a child would be something new.

As the whirring of the engine lulled Magnus further into relaxation, nearing sleep, she imagined the face of a newborn baby. A girl, maybe, with little wisps of super fine hair, and wide blue eyes. The way she would giggle, and squeal, and clap her hands, amazed at everything she saw. Unconditional, unquestioned love.

Helen remembered what day it was, and smiled. She would get back to the Sanctuary late in the day of the 1st of January, 1985. A rather coincidental yet poetic timing. A new year, a new beginning.

As she finally drifted into sleep, Magnus smiled, heart lighter than it had been in over a decade.

She would never be alone again.

**The End**

* * *

><p>*takes a deep breath* PHEW! Longest story I've ever written! Made myself upset with that ending, because as we all know, Ashley, well... and she IS all alone, YET AGAIN, and... well... What did YOU guys think! This whole thing started as an excuse to get Magnus into a hot encounter with some Faerie guys... don't ask me how it ended up being an actionadventure that leads to her deciding to have Ashley! Hahaha. One last round of love and hugs to you all for reading this through to the end :) Thank You. Namaste. MajorSam


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